|
My name is Sarah and I am your guide
this morning, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys.
Please keep all your belongings close
and please, please feed the animals.
I am the flea that drinks off skin and fur.
The fly on the wall is nothing to me.
I borrow other lives, try them for taste;
sip, suck, guzzle – then move on as I like.
Notice the peahen on your left, pruning her mate’s colours:
helping him paint the air while she waits, watches,
follows him, dressed in the sweep
of his shadow; pecks dust.
I am the zebra with striking black bands
of text. My letters shine against white stripes.
Then I kick hooves; roll questions in the mud
until all of my writing is smeared and smudged.
Watch orangutan Mum cuddle her baby continuously
one whole year, slow-swing him through the trees,
nuzzle him to unbroken sleep in her nest
of playful, restless dreams.
I am the cochineal beetle who bleeds
ink willingly. I’d grind my own body
to find the answers; spell them out in red
while the cactus quill spears me as I write.
The reptile house is open today but
our lizards are cold-blooded, shy. With camouflage scales,
they’ll hide behind stones, leaves, anything to avoid being seen.
They’ll even shed their own tails to escape.
I am the snake; my coiled form an ear lobe.
My body bends sounds to words, words to sounds
in constant slither; still never, never
silent. Listen! Hear my heart’s hissing tick.
The penguin’s characteristic waddle may raise a laugh.
It walks nowhere fast but is a powerful
swimmer, reaching 9mph. Some say its wings
are a memory, or wish, of when it could fly.
I am the tiger. Stripes alight, my bright
eyes burn two holes in the night as I blaze
fearful forests with my gaze; search my self
for the slightest trace of symmetry.
Sarah James
|
Comments
Leave a comment Trackback