The Forest

Certain African tribes believe there are gradations of death, ending with completely dead forever.

The forest sleeps, wake her up.

The forest sleeps and her children are afraid.

The forest sleeps too long.

The honey is scarce and hard in the hive.

The animals fly through the nets.

The leaves hiss like panthers as we walk loudly,

clapping and singing songs of no meat.

The forest is sleeping like death.

If we wake her she will feed us.

If we wake her the babies will grow fat.

If we wake her the leaves will cool the huts.

But she grows thin in sleep

and we grow white with dust.

We are her children under the moon.

We slap the bottoms of each others’ feet

to keep up our singing.

Before she is more dead.

Before she is completely dead forever.