On Our Rwandan Refugees: A Memory

[wpaudio url=”/audio/7_7/Rwanda.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

Zimbabwe, 1994

You have to remember:
sometimes a man does walk
out of the sunset, at first
staining the dark lily fabric,
then growing and becoming
a noise, a need, but it’s not
until you see one arm clearly
the red eyes, the paper skin,
not until you hear him ask
if you have any water please
please I have come so far