Nowadays,
there are more elephants in children’s books
than in any other Africa

as there are more ghosts posing
knife-faced on paperback covers
than in the still-windowed suburban house
I grew up in

as there are more poems
in the seasons of your hips and wrists
than in continent-wide anthologies and
discounted magazines–

And me,
I know I can’t keep up.
But I try.