Women at the River Women eye each other on opposite sides of the river.   One catches fish in a hide basket; the other washes her baby’s bottom.   One gathers manioc tubers to pound into paste. The other gathers berries on the river banks   They both bury their placentas or a stillborn at the water’s edge,   wash away their blood in the cool water, sing for their living, keen for their dead.   They do not divide the flowing water, nor the scent of flowers, air, sky, sun.   When the dark men scream and cross the…