The Nomad, Setti Fadma

Rabiaa

In the rebirth of the valley

between the green fruit

and the rushing snow melt

between black pelts

and the baritones of new fathers—

 

In all of this new life

is the reminder that not all survive.

not all buds bloom,

or fruit ripen

or newborns leave the blood clotted fur of their mother’s coat.

 

not so kind is the flooding of pastures for the foxhole,

or hungry vipers awakening from hibernation

or the sharp bite of the mongoose.

she, too, has mouths to feed.

None of it is evil.

a manifestation of

will, innateness, and luck,

 

And a reminder that I survived the floods

and the sharp teeth;

that my probability turned to actuality

and I am here breathing

all these beginnings and ends

in the mountain spring

in a far-off land

that I call home.

April 2019

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