poetry

Navigating Botswana

Navigating Botswana

we sniff out water
like all the other animals:
moist must of algae and clay
true reflection of sky
(not just mirage)
dark sepia of saturated soil
bright green of a drinking plant

they lead us to our rendezvous
with stork and zebra
elephant and giraffe
impala and kudu
even vultures gulping what’s left
in this dried-out land

we search out
the flush toilets and working sinks
cold fizzies and St. Louis cans
hot showers and cold swimming pools
coffee tea delta panhandle Boteti
our veins pulled to whatever else still flows
through these deepest of dry sands

poetry

who owns the rain?

who owns the rain?

in a thousand villages
in a hundred towns
in a dozen cities
people argue right now:
who owns the rain?

in a western water court
old men hear cases
weigh the rights of farmers and fish
consider the adage
first in time first in line
gauge what use is beneficial
collect money to buy life
decide with finality
who owns the rain?

in Botswana
money = pula
and pula = rain
the earth’s heart is carved
into mountains of tailings
to exhume sparkling rocks
while some drink salt
hoping for a new borehole
weathering drought wondering
who exactly owns the pula?

in Colorado
you had to be a renegade
to steal the water off your roof
every ounce of the rivers
already over-allocated
bought and paid for
by who knows who
you had to be brave to rebel
to catch that daily liquid thunder
and defiantly say
I claim this rain

poetry

Showers: Two Perspectives

Showers: Two Perspectives

water courses over my limbs
making me my own river network
braiding and unbraiding
carrying away the salt and dust and weariness
the road laid down
opening my pores
letting my eyes see without clayed corners
unmatting my hair
unclogging my nails
leaving the clean damp sheen
of a free-breathing body
until I sigh and smile

and the boys cry
don’t make me do it!

poetry

desert sunset

desert sunset

in the desert
the sun rises and sets
in great pink sheets
laden with rosewood and incense
ushering a red-violet orb
to the dark side of day

poetry

Makgadikgadi Pans Bedtime Story

Makgadikgadi Pans Bedtime Story

we lay ourselves down
on a flat white board
under an amber smile of newish moon
and saltspray of star and spiral arm
far from the reach of everything
breathing in the last breath
of expired ocean
letting the cations
melt negativity away
becoming a simple body
sleeping sound
back hugging ancient earth
under a baobab’s silent steady watch
good night