Mama Mubuyu
skin like smooth stone
the dull magenta of a firm ripe yam
mubuyu holds velvety fruits high
that even dried stay sweet
a treat that won’t rot
she keeps a hollow in her knee
a safe spot for sleeping birds
and the languid winter air
teases her empty crown
most of all
she stays rooted
a murmuring witness
to all deeds done and undone here
a millennia-long memory
a call to humility
impossible to ignore
southern African lament
one wild sound
stuffed in a box
ringed with bars
wailing into the dark
seeing no way out
protesting anyway
pacing for change
waiting for dawn
