I Am the One Who Wasn’t Buried
They name her Kotias.
They name her Satsurblia.
They point to bones, to stone,
to fragments held in sterile light,
as if one name
could hold a people.
But she was not a people.
She was not a tribe, nor a mother of nations.
She was one.
So was the other.
They were not who survived.
I am the one who wasn’t buried.
Not in caves. Not in archives.
I was carried,
in wombs that walked,
through heat and silence,
through steppe and mountain,
through forgotten languages.
I am not a sample.
I am not U4c1 in a database.
I am breath,
memory without story,
bloodline without flag.
Let them name the dead.
I will name the living.
Ez im — the one who remained.