Safari, Rift Valley
Minutes ago those quick cleft hoofs
lifted the dik-dik’s speckled frame.
Now the cheetah dips her delicate head
to the still-pulsating guts. Our Rover’s
so close we need no zoom to fix the green
shot of her eyes, the matted red mess
of her face. You come here, recall a father
hale in his ordinary life, not his last bed,
not the long tasteless slide of tapioca.
This is the Great Rift, where it all began,
here where the warthogs and hartebeest
feed in the scrub, giraffes splay to drink,
and our rank diesel exhaust darkens the air
for only a few moments before vanishing.
lifted the dik-dik’s speckled frame.
Now the cheetah dips her delicate head
to the still-pulsating guts. Our Rover’s
so close we need no zoom to fix the green
shot of her eyes, the matted red mess
of her face. You come here, recall a father
hale in his ordinary life, not his last bed,
not the long tasteless slide of tapioca.
This is the Great Rift, where it all began,
here where the warthogs and hartebeest
feed in the scrub, giraffes splay to drink,
and our rank diesel exhaust darkens the air
for only a few moments before vanishing.
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Disclaimer
We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2006 by Roy Jacobstein, whose most recent book is “A Form of Optimism,” University Press of New England, 2006. Reprinted by permission of the author. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.