II On the Edge by Okogbule Wonodi

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I wait on the shore

for the turning tide 

and for seabirds, mouthful, 

with shrimps caught on wet marshes.

Around me the sands burn, 

films of heat rise 

from under my feet and mud walls crack; 

yet there's a cackle in public houses.

For I, that farm at noon, 

eat of other farmers 

and seek to fish at the day's end...

But I have had to wait, 

patiently,

waited for the return of Aka 

who, untouched by the flood 

at the flux of day and night, 

baits his sire's hooks 

and looks years and years hence.

I'll wait for his return, 

wait for the turning tide 

as tree trunks grow 

out of the silts of past floods.