And there they sat
upon hot coals,
in a coliseum of fire:
A man’s vows betrayed,
A woman jeweled
In broken promises.
All around them
The eyes of aged owls
drunk with the words
of the ancestors
Sees the unseen soul.
They have betrayed the soil;
Mother to fresh palms
Blessed by the sun
And made her tears
Flood the streams
Into the market place.
As the sun
Hides behind the hills,
Dogs are heard barking
Black widows draw
Their weaving to an halt.
Upon the market square,
The village convenes.
A man
Had stolen his wife’s palm oil
And given another to cook okra
Atop an open flame.
