Ironwood Giraffe

I hold in my fist

the neck of a foot-high

ironwood giraffe

I bought in a market 

in Johannesburg

This hard wooden sculpture

reminds me that

I saw no giraffe

while in Africa

though I strained my neck

and squinted against the plane's

tempered double window

and looked upon Senegal

to see only darkness

and a few huts

All the way to Jo'berg,

to Maputo and north

along the coast of Mozambique,

past the swollen Zambezi,

there was no sign

of the prophetic beast

who says very little

but flaps an ear

while exfoliating

a village tree

I saw children close to earth

and mothers bending the knee

and a ragged beggar

sleeping on the beach

and many bare feet

There were homemade boats on the shore

and on the wrong side of the road

worn down diesel trucks

I met mahogany colored people

who raised the palm with "Salaama"

Beneath me, the hard red earth

Above, palms and boabab trees

At eye level, orphans and widows

bright smiles and laughing

music and dancing

I still see large yellow African morning skies

with rainbows at noon

I hear the rhythms of Makua and Makonde tongue

I listen to boys with wares on the beach

who can negotiate with anyone

Then back through small airports

named for national heroes

but never a glimpse

of a noble and cow-eyed

black and orange race of seers

So I hold my ironwood

giraffe by the neck

and plant him on the mantle

so I can see every day

what I have not seen

6/3/08

copyright 2008 Trevor Haug

from "Poems of Africa"