THEIR VOICES FLOWN THROUGH EMERALD TREES (RWANDA)

Who are
these dark ants of death?
these tight
fists,
intent heads?

The women fell,
they stood;
staggered,
fell; they begged
for 20 minutes long O
long O let us live! the men

clubbed them, clubbed
them (will they never
die?), clubbed

until the faces
of the women stopped:

did it –
the women's slender necks and legs
and graceful arms like dolls', strewn
on the road, on
the lovely summer grass.


Susan Downe