Dinka

On the News At Ten a woman sat beneath a sparse leaved tree
a dust-bathed slender stork
her spindle fingers at her gathered brow
she rested on her haunches
toes splayed she beckoned, invited me close enough (almost)
to stroke a bitter chocolate velvet
if incurvate cheek.

Taking a bundle from between her bony knees
skeletal arms outstretched
she proffered it to me
a baba wrapped in a prayer shawl
bleached by the sun
its faded, fancy patterns shouting ‘Thanks to God’
wounding me.

I gazed at the dull eyed and indifferent child
then with my mothers nature
reached out and to the screen to save the child
but the woman drew back
and keeping it close she swaddled it tighter
one dismissive hand waving me away
shaking her head.

It was then that I understood
she had wanted only to move me
and that from sofa to screen
is not a journey and as I hesitated
she rose slowly, resolute
seeming giant like
as she turned her back and ambled languidly away.