Hapi Godess of the Nile
From cradle to grave the sun baked
the skin leather, un-oiled
and rain did not fall
for Isis with held her tears.
From the bloody care of womb
children popped like bread from
the oven of women, the urns of life,
earthen were their colors
ocher, saffron, and
some as black as basalt, rich…
with a Nubian glow.
How the small ones squeal
at the wadi’s edge.
How the toes of man and beast
dance at the skirt of mother Nile,
sensuous, rippling with the wind,
or placid in the doldrums of summer sun.
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