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This poem is taken from PN Review 179, Volume 34 Number 3, January - February 2008.

Three Poems Marsha Pomerantz


The Ark, Aberdare National Park, Kenya

Aground on the central highland, they speculate before first light. Leopard sighted to the east, says he.

She spies no feint in the grasses, no spots massing to spring.

Darkness glints from the water hole. They snap shots from a blind.

To the north, three bushbuck at the salt-lick harken, start, lick, twitch, dart, stop.

Sky yawns pink around a flint Mt Kenya, bares its snow teeth.

Sun gets punctured on those ridges,
says he, his arm circuiting her ribs.

A grey heron steams out of rock, pure S-shape in air, almost not there.

Sleepers bound out of bed, binoculars turning east together.

Maybe they'll see truly this time, through grasses, a tuft, a tussock on a hillock.


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