Drums pulse
Through the night dark.
I close my eyes,
Feel the smoothness of cotton sheets
With bare toes,
Grieving for the woman,
Children, parents
Of the man whose heart stopped
At 5:03 a.m.
When the sun was
Still east of the mountains
And the moon hiding
Behind the monoliths
That brood over the valley.
The pulse of the drums
Concusses the night winds
Plays in my mind
Like a heartbeat
From the earth.
A matatu accident
Was the whisper
In the market.
Flipping when a tire blew
It rained people over the roadway
And into the ditches.
Sleep is elusive
As the drum’s song
Haunts the night hours,
Throbs during the day,
Will continue until
Samuel is buried
With his fathers
In the hollow of ground
Where monkeys play.
Hide and seek.
Jeanette-Marie Mirich 