Yellow dog gift

He leads the pack that chased

my duiker –

he knows I dislike him:

runs when I come.

Just outside the fence,

I see he wants to enter

with a gigantic thing in his mouth,

but, seeing me, he puts it down.

He puts it down deliberately,

puts it down as something intended

for me. And runs.

I heed the sign and go

to look

at

the badly decomposed head

of a goat – eye sockets

maggoted, a dry piece of lip

curling a slim tusk

at the front of the jaw.

Pawing through the meanings,

I sense dimly

that my past of sacrifice

is done, and that battles lost

are won.

– Silke Heiss, 25^th October 2019