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The tree trunk
is the colour
Of an African elephant’s legs:
It has the feel of a cheese grater.
Years later
I remembered them –
The lost children of the woods –
And their names came back to me:
Avia, Cheng Cheng, Aisha, Pavel, Billy P.
By then I was an old woman,
My legs like those trunks, swollen
And all of my secrets locked away
In the old wooden trunk
From India in my living room,
Downstairs, where I hardly go anymore.
And my old heart is a wooden chest.
And my old feet are rooted to this place.