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james mcgonigal
Poet  •  Critic

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Click on the poem title to read the next excerpted poem from Cloud Pibroch.

       The African Sun

I was in Africa again suddenly and frequently,
listening for the voice of water.

The sun looked ready to fry up
a thorn bush for breakfast.

Warthogs ran past us on clockwork legs.
An old man at a water hole miles out

crouched to rub ochre on his arms and hair.
The sun’s slow heartbeat

was muffled sometimes then clearly pounding
and suddenly gone.