Skull Hook
Skull Hook
My skull hangs by hemp
third down from the right knee
of the agiba dependent
by chance directly beneath
that of Drybow, the father of Paias,
the Kerewa warrior who slew me
the day before my 23rd birthday
as I wandered, lost, in their wood
Mine, a trophy
Drybow’s, a prayer in bone
Many’s the hour Drybow and I
have spent
conversing
on long moon-free nights:
a palaver of skulls,
dead men talking,
comparing customs of our
two tribes:
We have become good friends
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