History
Somewhere in Africa
there’s a place where dusty reeds mutter and shift
and blackjacks threaten
where high grass whitens and ibis
fly down at dawn and up at dusk
calling the dull brown beat of their wings.
There’s a river where reeds are loud in the dust
and the flat stones green-grey
where the child crouches
making a dam with small boulders
laid across the stream in a narrow place.
He treads carefully in his broken tackies
and sets each stone precisely
wedging the smaller pebbles.
The dust drifts, the reeds shift
and a helicopter
flies downstream after the ibis.
The child squats on a fallen slab
squints up at the helicopter
sips coke out of a tin
and considers his structure.
Under his heels are carved the words
Sacred to the Memory
of Colonel Harry S Hazelgrove
and of his Sisters
Grace, Emily and Kitty
and a date somewhere in 1922.
© Jane Fox
via "Радио Родезия"