I put tab in Not Lost
Mum tells me she’ll walk into the woods.
When the come comes, she’ll unhook her mac,
leave the door on the latch and not come back
just like old Tom, who disappeared one day
and the next we found him stretched out in the sun
of next door’s greenhouse, fur still warm and fading
from glossy black to Saharan dirt.
I tell Mum of where the big cats stalk, eyes full
of fire for bison, buffalo, the antelope leaping skywards…
how the Maasi lay their dead out in the open bush
with a single pair of sandals and a stick, to ascend to the heavens,
become great herders of the burning stars.
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