Picking Up Shiny Things

Mombassa

You come to me with the moon
in your arms, cradled like a son, proud
as if you had brought forth this miracle
from the sky with your own hands.
The hem of your mythology sweeps
my threshold. Me, I sit on a stool
by the western window, concentrate
on the savannah’s fluent, topaz dance.

I thought Africa was beyond you
that your wings would tire somewhere
over the beguiling Caribbean, but no,
you have come with stars in a rough sack,
a wild river caught in a green jar,
a rain of snowy petals in your wake.
I breathe the wildness of your journey.
There are tigers here, I tell you, hungry

things crouch in every shadow. Beauty
is a ripple beneath a pelt, the sinew
that trembles before the leap.
Oh yes, I welcome your treasures,
but for now please come empty
your hands and watch with me.
Let me show you a marvel.
This is Kenya and I have found something

true. There beneath the acacia tree
where sunlight plays on slender blades
she watches with her golden eyes.
I feel her strength, her inborn grace
as it flows in every measured step.
When you kiss me you will know
it too. Africa blooms in me, verdant.
untamed. I am the grassy plain below the lioness.