During National Poetry Month, when we poets are supposed to be writing a poem a day, I thought I'd finally try a poem about Africa. Let's call it a rough draft, shall we? That would make me feel a lot better.
I've not been to Africa, but
I want to return. They say the
mitochondrial DNA of every woman
can be traced back to that of one
woman in ancient Africa, before it
was ancient Africa, so my mother
was related to her; me, too. Also, I've
been staring at the shape of Africa on
maps since I was five years old.
Western cartographers put Africa
in the middle of my geographic vision.
What's more perpetually tragic and
beautiful than Africa? I don't know.
Africa seems ready to disprove
everything I think and know about Africa.
I know that much for sure. I must return
to Africa, which I've not visited yet.
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom