On learning of the death of Nelson Mandela, 5/12/2013

Gillian_ferguson_photo_high_resby Gillian K Ferguson05 Dec 2013

That black dawn,
your fist clenched

like a sleeping dove.

How did you bone wings,
culture a bird,

a song, in there?

An olive flower,
seeded in such dirt.

In that biblical chapter of nights,
immense stars burned,
drowned under sea walls,

but you just looked up,

surrendering everything -
a currency of soul,
broken body,
normal eyes.

So clutching the roots:
love, patience, wisdom.