This is what I hear
When out of that heart
You speak:
Like grown men of an African bush tribe
Clip-slipping their feet in the hot dust
Around a broke-fire
White dark dirt shoves up
Out of the roots of the earth and
Races up on the heels of them and over the high-topped feather headdresses of grown men
And rising up and out the sound of an overwhelming shout of challenge and victory and defeat
As the sound rages out of their muscle-y burnt bodies and their heart beats
Step-step faster
Out—
Run
Out—
Shout
Out—
Live
And then you are
The one who ran ahead
To shove his spear first into the lions mouth
But got torn in half by its jaws.
This is what I hear
When out of that heart
You speak:
Death to mother
Your sister
Your brother
To your lover
Like every other somebody out there
Is a lion that needs to be taken
Down by a man
Like you.
Poem originally published in Promethia Literary Magazine, Spring 2013
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Skin
PoetryPoetry. A touch of travel writing: Ethiopia, Oxford, Belgium, Colorado. A lick of nature writing. Some grief. All poetry.
