THIS IS AFRICA

What is left on the other side
of the moon rises
like a black noise twittering
under a soft black rim.
Everything is in motion.
 
Everything moves farther away.
Every breath is heard.
It is dark blood filling the air.
And the earth mourns. This is Africa
buried under the music
 
of shuffling feet.
Girls carry baskets on their heads
as children clinging
to their legs and arms
swing freely
 
past stalls of monkey oranges
and wooden carvings
and handmade dolls,
past women in billowing skirts
with red ochre thickly smeared
 
over their bodies and long hair
making them prehistoric
and as empty as lions resting
under mopane trees or as ungainly
as giraffes mating in the bush.
 
Each operatic moment
is filled with the movement
of people and herds
of wildness passing
mud and straw huts
 
and tiny sheds
made of timber planks
that glow in the morning fires
like worms feeding
off of the sunlight.
  
We sit as still as shadows
waiting for the drum beat
that reaches across the pan
to sear the jungle heart
and leave us with nightmares.

© Copyright, 2013, Steven Pelcman.
All rights reserved.