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Old Poem
Leida recently emailed me to ask for a poem that I wrote back in college about Africa. A bunch of my friends went there on a mission trip, and I was swept up by their stories and wrote a poem about my own experience of Africa through their words and memories. Hope you like it.
streets
we stood on the dirt road
cracked and rutted
thirsty for water
blanched by the hot African sun.
in my hat I did not fear the sun
that had darkened his small face
but made his smile blaze.
this child I had baited with candy to love me
now followed me wherever I went
eager
inquisitive
warning me of his approach
with the soft clash
of small feet against crumbling ground.
behind him an old woman squatted
over a hole in the middle of the village.
a gust of dirt-filled air passed between us
carrying the smell of distant fires.
and his words hung vivid in the air
a complicated question
I didn’t know how to answer
“Are the streets paved with gold
in America?”
1 comment
thanks, peter.