The Fourth Day
At dawn she presses her pelvis against me, forcing me up.
I bring her stale water in a clamshell. As she drinks I pick up my tools-
a sharpened stick, a small rock with a tapered head, and a bag woven from reeds.
I stand naked on the ledge of the cave and watch the river run
to a sea that shimmers green blue in the distance
and hear the roar of red lions hunting across the veldt.
The lions have grown afraid and suspicious.
A great red one with a burgundy mane leads a pride
of six that follows me throughout the day. I remember him from the garden.
He, like us, is forgetting our time there.
Soon neither he nor I will remember our previous lives
when we spoke the same language and lived in peace.
We have become brutes in this new world and know not what we do.
Copyright © 2006 by Keith William Harvey. All rights reserved.
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