Namibian Dreams

Namibian Dreams

If my mother could see me now.
The only Africa she new was missionaries.
The weekly Sunday morning, Sunday evening
Plea for coins.
Coins I could have used for movies.
But they were forbidden.
This Namibian Africa is
Quiet music
Vast still views
Little white and brown dogs
Jackels in the evening
Upside down milky road.

If my mother could see me now
She would know a different Africa
Not the place to be rescued,
The place to be lived
Absorbed through the skin,
The feet.
It holds me with its rose glowing arms.
The sun now is not harsh as I was told
But it is filtered with shadows climbing
Up the tables, mesas rojas
The beetle that walks with its head down
and its rear in the air to catch the morning dew.

If my mother could see me now
She would learn why we are different
and it would be okay.
There would be no right and worng
No blasck and white
There would just be.
When the questions come
They are easily answered.
There are no wrong answers,
Only answers.
Answers both original and mundane
The stuff of what I am.