Reliquary

On Sunday morning under orange bougainvillea,
your picture spills from an old album.
You were on a verandah under purple bougainvillea,
drinking the hot noon from your coffee cup
as I drank passion fruit and watched Lake Tana birth the Nile.

Later, kneeling by the river, I made my hand into a cup,
but you called out that slow death swam the blood
of those who touched the river,
while behind you on harsh branches,
black birds barked stark music.

Now, on Sunday morning under orange bougainvillea,
half a world and half a life away,
I restore you to your proper place, remembering how,
when they laid you down to dream beneath the purple bougainvillea,
it was passion fruit’s sweet poison that flavored my life.

This is a poem from my book If I Were Water and You Were Air, to be published soon,
For RDP: Relic