Nourishment
Children of Maradi wear red bracelets.
Dying, they are the lucky ones—
their sisters, wrists circled in yellow or orange bands,
sent home to chew leaves tough enough
to survive locusts and drought.
Trinkets tinkling, we fan ourselves
in cooled houses, enfolded by lush lawns,
fretful over bruised peaches, wilted greens.
The mother looks at me from the back page of the newspaper—
eyes slitted, brows contracting inward, a deep gash
descending her nose. She does not hope.
Farmers’ markets sport brimful baskets,
cascades of crimson, gold, wine, emerald—
glutted abundance.
The grandmother carries her for miles,
fans flies from her face, laments, It’s the worst I’ve seen.
But the world is generous. Our friends hear our cries.
Do you think they will let us suffer when they are living comfortably?
Bracelets of gold, silver, copper
jangle and glint in the sun—
bull’s blood offering to an indifferent god.
(Tiger’s Eye)
