Susan Smith Nash



Nothing fresher than the air that day Ė

Water skittering by on land too high for coffee,

too low for the tall trees and dense green I crave for sleep Ö

a condition like hippopotami submerging themselves;

thick, leathery anchors.


We immersed ourselves in the smell

of rain, fish, coffee brewing.Somewhere far away

thunder set off on a long journey

Kikuyu mountains, the tribespeople

long ago pushed into settlements.


My face scorched pink

A day of looking into my soulís mirror


My heart someplace else

In untrackable bush


The tour guide laughed when I spoke Kiswahili,

Proceded to teach me more words


Thunder and rain.

The hand I held a part of the whole unreality of it all,

Good guy, this bwana, I said.

They thought we were husband and wife.

So thatís how I could tell it was a dream---



Susan Smith Nash