...and the Great Chief smiled
and from his eyes the shining
happiness danced,
and whirled and hurled itself
into the burning ball of
brightness;
and was the sun.
And the former tears of his long
grey loneliness
slipped away
and there before the day-dawn of
the man-time
lay shimmering, light,
like doe-skin;
and were a watering place.
And the One Great Spirit then bent
low
and took the dear dark earth of
Africa
in cradling hands
and warmed it with his breath;
he fashioned free the warriors of
the world.
Fearless they stood,
numberless as stars or the hairs
upon the kudu;
and they were strong and beautiful,
brown as the clay
still drying on their pulsing
skins.
And they drew together at the
watering-place
that they might wash their bodies
clean,
be new and shining at the day-dawn
of the world.
And some were rude and arrogant,
pushing through the patient ones,
thrusting through their gentleness
and laughing loud, wild;
and deep the water washed away the
clinging clay
and they came out triumphant,
cleansed,
and white as bone;
they journeyed north with
sky-reflecting eyes.
And some slid through the gathered
warriors,
slim-eyed, secret,
slipping quickly to the shrinking
pool,
to stand waist-high in muddied
water,
to scoop it over face and limbs
and steal away, east; quiet; and
yellow;
forgetful of those others, waiting
for their turn.
And the last ones looked;
the watering-place was but a
puddle,
shimmering beneath the burning
sun...
One by one they bent
to wash the quiet soles of hot and
weary feet,
the palms of patient hands;
and brown, brown,
they touched the dear dark earth
of Africa
with pink and courteous sole
and held tomorrow poised
between their pale, slim palms...
(1986)
