In recognition of Poetry Month, and to celebrate our treasure trove of Orcas Island poets, Orcas Issues is pleased and honored to offer daily poetry during April.
MAASAI WARRANT
— by James McKeon —
A cold wind out of the South
Herded gravid clouds above the boma,
Whistled through the thorn bush fence
That held out cattle thieving lion and
Rattled the flapping windows
Of the dusty Land Rover approaching up the hill,
And, beyond the lee established by thick ochre walls
Made by woman’s hands from dung and mud,
Stirred cotton robes worn by elders, old thin men
Greeting unexpected guests.
Courtesies observed, the elders resumed their game.
Players gathered round a circle of shallow holes,
Squatting or standing stork like, moving smooth stones
From hole to hole according to indecipherable rule,
Apparently to capture or impede their rivals stones and send
Their own around the circle.
From the to and fro of stones,
The swift practiced hands
Like shuttles in a loom,
A curious notion rose:
The deliberate impassive faces are absorbed
Not in contest, as it seemed at first,
But rather, some arcane
Cooperative undertaking.
An invocation yoking higher powers
To the maintenance of cosmic order:
The prevention of drought and rinderpest,
The sidereal wheel, the course of planets, the
Measured passage of time, the arrival of sun and rain
And the deliverance of child bearers
Were all caught up, one with this casual game
Played by tall thin men upon the high volcanic plain.
To these old men, it was perhaps
Just a game to pass the time, but the strangeness
Was not just in my head, it was in the sky as well,
In the cold wind and in the motion of their hands as if
All moving were one strangeness,
A pointing where no finger is.
this is gorgeous – totally takes me there.