Over Africa
by Judy Seicho Fleischman
When travelling over Africa
all roads lead home.
When travelling over Africa
all rivers lead to the sea.
You and me,
two shades of grey
mingling with brown,
earth fired,
clay rising,
bubbling up,
this molten core
we call
me and you;
two
birds of a feather
on an ocean voyage
to the open plain.
Bare breasted,
sun stroked,
hearts opening,
sky endless,
tall grass,
space.
All the longing,
time passing,
gone before I can catch my breath.
To feel it fully,
the knowing
releasing into
who knows what?
Satisfaction,
joy,
deep sorrow
for the child
who will never hear mother wail,
how I have hurt you
how I have hurt myself
how I see it now so clearly
and take you in my arms
without crushing us both
knowing
this I, born of mother
larger than the one who stands
on the other side
of the golden lake
as the girl with the golden locks
stares into the same deep pool,
tears flowing,
meeting
this side.
Oh, to hold your hand.
This sorrow could crush this me
shifting by the minute
but this I cannot catch
itself,
like the dog endlessly chasing
its own tail.
So who sheds the tears
and who wipes them away?
Who feels?
One cannot speak the words
and one cannot bear the silence
between them.
Which is which?
Who can say?
Whoosh -- the tide going out,
sun long down
moon on the rise.
Tide's turning
must come
as surely
as day follows night.
Africa calls out
to all wild things
to howl and wail.
The moon can take it,
the earth is quenched
by tears,
the rivers filled,
the ocean sustained.
This sorrow consumes me
this night
for the child
that yearns for what it cannot have,
so I hold myself
unable to turn away
from the pain.
This joy
bittersweet
like chocolate
like Africa
like all wild things
who,
seeing death,
embrace life
without pushing away what it brings.
Sometimes we touch
but that shimmering instant soon fades
and bit by bit
we learn
to watch it all from a distance
and get a better view
shifting, sniffing,
like a dog
who knows it's caught the scent
like the child
staring into the deep ancient lake
who sees
all times reflecting
back on themselves
and knowing this to be true
is content.
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