August in Zimbabwe
In repeated patterns
the planet turns
- it is that time again
when skeletal-dark branches
that space the beige of winter
bud into copper and gold
and the bougainvilleas bloom
in flowers of fire
at sunset we sit in the stillness of twilight
as the earth holds her breath
approaching the time to dream
collecting our vital force to cross the invisible canyon
news this morning reports that 2 days of SADC meetings
‘have met with no resolution’
the death of thousands on their hands
and still the old man holds us in his grips
as we watch our people starve
the street child stands on the corner
street worn
bare feet in a carpet of crimson
fallen petals
of the lucky bean tree