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.