by Isobel Hodges
Preparation begins by heating
the stones.
Next, lay the food down
cover with earth
and leave for many hours.
I slide the tube behind your ear
the device cycles
a mechanical meter.
If it can’t detect breath
it will dispense air
unabated
until your lungs catch up.
Your lungs won’t catch up.
I rub your spotted arms
and kiss your forehead.
I scratch your stubble
and you smile, say,
I’ll shave tomorrow.
I long to crawl into the pit
with the yams and the fish.
I don’t know how this will end
I know how this ends.