Cover Art: Juice by Dastid Miluka, mixed media on canvas, 2016, 135 x 113 cm. Private Collection. For inquiries about this piece, please contact us at art@thebrusselsreview.com
Mashatu, Botswana
The majestic matriarch
distinguished by her wrinkled
grey robes, keeps one
wise and wary eye on us
as she saunters past
our mechanical, metal armadillo
where we perch
like turtles on a hippo.
Meanwhile, her toddler, curious,
shuffles our way.
She heads him off
with her trunk.
She seems to know
we’re only there to shoot
photos as she consumes
a tree or two for lunch.
For now, our truce holds,
so long as we maintain
our distance. Still,
she’d rather be rid of us
and thinks the rains
can’t come too soon.
Dead Trees
Dead trees remain standing—
stark reminders of what once was
a flourishing row of ash, beech and birch.
Now they are cold statements—
wintry exclamations!!!
They creak, sway and whisper
like old friends
and missing family—
an ellipsis …
following the fixed images
rooted in your mind.
Rent
When they die—friends and family—
They take up residence in our bodies.
They are always welcome.
They pay rent in memories
That sometimes lift us
With the lifebuoy of laughter.
Other times, they weigh us down
With the anchor of sadness. Still,
We will continue to collect the rent
As long as we’re afloat.
Slippery When Wet
–catching full view of her monosyllable (Anna Burns)
Does that capture it? Or is it
The number 1
Or a lower-case L?
Or is it a double ll—a parallel
Between which lies
A hooded flower. Of course,
If there’s an effort, a decision
To invite entry,
An opening, a spreading,
Invasion by a digit or digits
Or a nosy, ridiculous
Mini-elephant’s trunk,
A misplaced tail,
A transplanted overgrown thumb
Situated above
The oblong, soft-boiled eggs,
Then it’s a different story
Of a succulent fruit
Hiding in a garden.
