Old poem again. she stands upon a sun-scoured crag tattered bits of tiger skin adorn her gaunt yet graceful form below her rise the breathing tops of jungle trees above, a tangled web of contrails laces a hazy sky a cold tear rests beside her sun-browned nose her vine-callused hands are clenched in desperate anguish today, she saw the last python expire tomorrow, it may be a jackal or a hippopotamus she has watched embattled forests shrink before her species’ rage seen rivers run in muddy strains of broken earth she hearkens back to stories that her father told proud reaches of trees and vines, crystal waters rushing over rocks her mind is full of echoes from a lost sweltering night cheetahs barking, bullfrogs grumping distant lions that roared on teeming yellow savannahs now there is only the sound of metal birds roaring in the sky as night falls, she calls out over the trees voicing near-forgotten cries a gorilla grunt, a hyena’s laugh, an elephant’s trumpeting lament no answer strikes her ears, yet she sings on new lines etch her face; still she comes here every day to fill the shrinking green with sounds of memory when her hair of iron-grey has blanched to white there will be no more history here she has borne no children of her own her arms have cradled many ill-fated orphans on the jungle bed soon, there will be no place for mothers and their young to abide the myriad lives of nature will be swept under by fields of corn her proud shoulders sag in drying river time her leather feet become unsure on acid-etched crumbling stone another year may pass before she sees the last tree savaged by saws she stands wavering on the cliff unsure if she can fall
Posted on: Tue, 22 Apr 2014 13:41:58 +0000
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