siphons dreams
from a barren woman
like puffs
of dusty air
from panting nostrils,
while low hums
betray her presence
in the thick,
and billow
like a fragrance
on the smoke of prayers
to the gods,
until her hunger
beats the skins
of the ashiko and djembe
and dances the earth,
pounding out the rhythm
that is Africa,
and Africa sings.
Painting by me, entitled Africa
Read more poems by JMariah
