Acacia

December 9, 2017

Is spread across the yellow grass
Like butter freckled with breadcrumbs

There is a golden cataract
Hovering above the edge of the hill-chain

A translucent mist clambers on high
And meets the edge of the silhouette
Where a snake limb trumpets ire
Into the savannah air

The tusks arm into the vista.
Slow and fearless, the silhouettes
Take elephantine forms
Slouching across the twilight
Mother, son and daughter

I recognize them
In the ivory hue and night dust
Of the Serengeti

The mother braces a dark gaze at me
Her eyes brimming with a clear fluid

And I remember when they said
-Ndovu hawatosahau-
Elephants will never forget

 

 


Poet’s Note: The recent move seeking to lift the ban on trading in animal trophies had stirred many; this justified indignation does so not only in the hearts of men and women who risk their lives protecting these treasures, the researchers and conservationists who offer lifetimes of work and the quintessential everyman in the street but also the animals themselves who are to bear the brunt of brutality and ignorance.

READ MORE

Trump Halted These Hunt Trophies. Elephant Lovers Will Never Forget. [Washington Post]
Japan’s Refusal to Stop Ivory Trade Undermines Bans Elsewhere [New Scientist]
Ivory Trade: Nigerian Govt Seizes 55 Elephant Tusks [Premium Times Nigeria]


Michael Kang’a was born in the coastal city of Mombasa, Kenya. He graduated from Maseno University with a degree in Psychology. He lives in Nairobi, writing poems, short stories and essays.
Previous Story

Morning Would Come With a Poem

Next Story

Near Midnight, December 2, 2016

Latest from Africa

Untitled

by Saddiq Dzukogi. On Malian musician Ballake Sussoko and the kora destroyed by U.S. customs agents.

To A Ugandan Granddaughter

By Jane Yolen. Ugandan activist Stella Nyanzi is serving an 18-month prison sentence for her vagina-centric political poetry.
Go toTop

More Like This

Hallowed

We are on our own together with only as much magic as we remember how to find.

Forty-Two Days Until the Election

In the lead-up to the vote, omens and anxieties are hard to tell apart.