The African Blackwood gets up her nose
and behind her fingernails. She imagines
monkeys leaping through the canopy
as the lathe spins. Shavings zoom out
like miniature Masai spears when she
drills tone holes. Dark jungle ponds appear
as she polishes the body with wire wool.
The soldering iron throws out heat like
noon in Mombasa old town. Dockers
heave great stacks of wood and sweat
runs in silver rivulets. Nickel silver keys
take shape as she files. Bright as the sun’s
reflection in the quay. Feet in mangrove
mud slide like oily fingers on wood.
The sound reverberates like the yellow-
rumped tinker bird, shrieking and loud
until she gets her lip in. The laughing dove
joins in and then the greater blue eared
starling. Dawn lifts sounds out of air,
water, earth and wood. For a moment
she is the piper, calling and remembering all.
Oooh, I love all the detail which teaches me something I didn’t know and does it in rhythm and lovely sounds. I just wondered if, for the sake of the rhythm and of course what my ear hears isn’t necessarily what anyone else hears, the final line could end on ‘remembering’?