“Entering Mutare, Zimbabwe, through Christmas Pass in April, 2002”

Tyson Konold

Through green, jungle-covered cliffs,

an endless, grey, mountainous horizon,

I enter

marketplaces fresh from harvest

after a rainy season,

kept company by windchime voices

and old trucks climbing the hills

I descend from.

Children play on unpaved streets

as the smell of wind-blown dirt

and the dry taste of roasted maize

given by a generous heart

make me feel native.