It was a wetter Africa you knew,
ancient giraffe –
more greenery, the sky a wider blue,
your longer horns more often used –
when your full size was less than half
today’s. The climate changed; you grew.
More than the tongue, the spots, your neck
is what your name has come to mean. When said,
the sounds stretch out, long As from Arabic,
the hissing, slurring F which spreads
just like your neck in centuries of drought.
And if your paradise returned, would you
revert? For language takes safaris, too:
a wetter word, you’re shortened to a shout.
Written by Mary Alexandra Agner of Pantoums and Persistence.
Oh, this is wonderful! We have the science of nature and evolution and of linguistics as well. “language takes safaris, too” – indeed.
On the first read-through, I like how the last line makes me want to shout with surprise & pleasure. Welcome, Mary!
I really like this!
What a wonderful, delightful, original contribution! Great to see you here, Mary.
Very interesting and very nicely done.
Thank you all for your kind comments! I am completely thrilled to know that my poem has had this effect. I feel very welcomed.
Mary, this poem certainly lingers in the mind. Thank you for it.
The sound, the imagery, the pace and the turns — I love it!
A charming and original vision. Thank you!