Poem Hunter
(1965 / Abor, Volta Region, Ghana)


I want to tell my-story, our-story
not his-story stripped of my-story

I am going back to our-story
streaked with rust along the bow
trimmed by his-story to wake the dead
and frighten off living souls still staring
at where the lizard pulsed in the sun
and a false pawpaw tree strangles palm-trees

I am going back to our-story
before his-story told our-story
to rewrite our-story forgotten in his-story
not the ragged wilderness where raccoons live
it is the home where starlings stare down the doves,
and the sun comes out of the groves and shines

this will be our-story told in our story
where faded flowers come walking alive
back and forth in front of his-story
making bearded rabbis wring their hands
sending ghosts of Mungo Park to where
barracuda waits in slack tides

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Comments (1)

A poem of a story telling a story of a story?