Drought’s End
Seymour Jacklin
So far am I from the chilly
Stone basin where
I was baptised and gasped like
Soil struck by raindrops
A pall of packed earth my skin untilled
Like a seed husk stretched and dried and
I am still breathless and tight
Void and chaotic unable
To breathe or weep
My spine has grown about the
Anchor’s cable between
Earth and heaven’s waters because
There is nowhere else to grow
I respire like you red soil from
Season to season dreaming of
Foliage and clouds broached
Green and thorns and fruit
Bitter tasting
Coagulations of dust
Also red
My land
You and I are unlikely and chosen
In a way that makes better friends
Than choosing
And in this place where
We are a dehydrated One
With desert above and below
There is a rumour in high waxen leaves
Shaking like prophet tambourines
And your soil gasps up the last
Of its breath a moment
Before the rain
Muds my dust
And I choke out a waterstruck child’s cry
And defy the fools who say
Curse God and die
~
Seymour Jacklin was born in Rhodesia, later Zimbabwe, and has moved progressively north to find a climate more suited to his Norse genes. Now living in Durham, UK, he works as a freelance writer and editor. Seymour blogs at seymourjacklin.co.uk and podcasts his original fairytales, “Stories from the Borders of Sleep”, regularly at bordersofsleep.com.
Isfaaq Caunhye was born and raised in Mauritius. He works at his family’s jewellery company, which is where he first started taking photos. He joined a local photography group six years ago, and encouraged by his friend (also keen to learn more about the art), both set off capturing the most beautiful spots of the island. Find more of his work at: www.facebook.com/isfaaqcau/
