Elephant with a little Poet on its Head

by Darryl Price


“Every word was once an animal.”--Emerson


This circle has been

Broken. The mother has

Disappeared inside the wounds

Of gunfire like an 

Eye drop. Who knows if

Any of them left, crunched

Down, whole into the graveyard's

Sacred cusp after that forced   


Crawl? If teeth were

Yanked out while they

Were still crying for

Mercy from the poachers?   

What makes for a bit

Of elephant luck in the

World today? A mud bath

Or a hard swing of


Trunk into the face

Of a dental hunter?

They are related to

Us through stardust and 

Just plain dust. Their children's

Eyes want the same answers

Our own ask. Are we

Loved and can we love?


Or is that too

Much? A passionate life

Filled with passionate kisses,

And hugs from friends? 

Without her they must learn

To reinvent the world once

More. There is no time.

The circle's wobbly at best.


It will take years

To find the wisdom

To understand their heart's

Secret language again. She 

Used to sing it to them.

It sounded so right. But

Now something's breaking for both

Of us, Dear Ones.

(Show me the way

you Angels of words

please I pray to

speak and be heard.)