dancing round trees


It’s Monday and always women dance around trees.

They were/will burn. On evidences, On testimony.

I dance around the sapling in my minds roots.

Furiously and with fervour… where is it

Where is it? The joy the resistance they danced for?

C’mon dance girl dance.


I am not good I am not bad

Trees do grow … our linden is wider than 2 sets of arms.

It drops honey perfume in early summer. I trip on its roots.

Have you the time to hear this?

Open the window … a bee.


Writing about trees

They are growing outside and inside me.

The nerve ending sweeps and swerve

They undo do me.

A blackbird is on the bough

The linden listens

Nothing is said

They sit it out now together.


Margery quibbles and mumbles

Quite a few really … may die for dancing round trees.

Isn’t it good that’s over?

Come home soon. We will make a plan for the lispers, the heretics and their dancing whispers.

                         from Conversational Poetry- majena mafe


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