poetic interlude #8: baobab fruit

The air is dry

sand swirls and shifts

coating the car window like rain

There’s been little water

and the people have lost their livelihood

fishing net left strung to the reeds

trying to catch a dinner or a job

fresh bream at the lodges

plucking the bones 

from between their teeth

The fruit is dry

biting down on the chalky sweetness

teeth catching on the seed

But the water comes in

slowly, across the throat of the land

quenching the clay’s prolonged thirst

the reeds rise, the water lily falls

and the kudu bow their heads to drink

The land is dry

all desert sun and rising rock

but the rivers hold its life

The people come and go,

like the rain or the winter cold,

and the baobab becomes witness,

until its soft flesh breaks

splitting like the river itself

The tongue is dry

go away bird calls out

“We are a rich country”

and the sand begins to shine 

like diamonds