Wood With a Mellow Breath

With palms so chaste and a grip so pure She wraps her fingers around the mallets Letting them sit in the space between her thumbs and first fingers; When she makes her first few strokes Hammering smoothly up and down, There is no other sound but a breast of ribs whose mopane mellows the ear And a throat of cigarette paper whose hum somewhat bellows unto the heart; Then she sings a ballad of two lovers whose clans forbid it, Soon the astound trees rustle in accord, Her voice is a wrench that loosens the valves in my eyes; Tears collecting with the first few words, I wish my lover was here with me. After thirteen stanzas, my lonely eyes leak with homesick-tears ... Deep in the ridging belly of the Zambezi valley, A lily of the Kariba has found grace in her hand with the xylophone. 17/07/17 Copyright © All Rights Reserved