Leavings
At first there were hardly any of them,
a few small groups, no more than twenty,
picking quietly through vegetation,
hunting small game, grubbing up
anything going.
They never settled in any one place
because each halt was soon depleted.
They moved like fire, devoured each scrap
of food they found, then left the forest
to clear up behind them.
We still roam in search of changes
of sustenance, new patches of jungle.
But our fires have eaten the forests,
our leavings infiltrated the sea,
the sky and even our hunter veins.
And though we keep
on seeking them, the trees and the plants
and the creatures that used to live in the forest,
now there are not enough of them left
to tidy our trail.
After a random and gloriously refreshing email exchange (she sent photos of Bobs farewell including of Kali my beloved dog), she sent this. So she is writing poetry now, with gatherings monthly at the Chelsea Arts Club
Kalikellett 