II On the Edge by Okogbule Wonodi
I wait on the shore
for the turning tide
and for seabirds, mouthful,
with shrimps caught on wet marshes.
Around me the sands burn,
films of heat rise
from under my feet and mud walls crack;
yet there's a cackle in public houses.
For I, that farm at noon,
eat of other farmers
and seek to fish at the day's end...
But I have had to wait,
patiently,
waited for the return of Aka
who, untouched by the flood
at the flux of day and night,
baits his sire's hooks
and looks years and years hence.
I'll wait for his return,
wait for the turning tide
as tree trunks grow
out of the silts of past floods.
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