Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
A Walk into the Soft Soft
wind through the gathered people
across a land still under
construction: steel girders mute
gesture and silent eye as
anonymous as I the
woman: If anyone had known
to call my name I could not
have owned it.
Anyone speaks in
fumbling whispers halting words.
Their stifled voices tell of
tenuous contentment a
qualified peace. They all know
my name. It is only I
who cannot say it.
The wind
ruffles and scatters the dead
dying leaves. They are driven
before that invisible
force in aimless terror. I
hear their dry voice at my door.
Written by Sherley Anne Williams (1944-1999)
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