Ariga: Poetry: Dieu Merci, poem by Janet Buck

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Dieu Merci

by Janet Buck

As we slice a 20 lb. bird -- copper brown
and stuffed with a harvest of luck,
two ferries collide on Mai-Ndombe Lake.
One boat splits in half like a chicken wing
with two short bones.
It's called the Dieu Merci.
Irony is gravy thick.
Eight-foot swells swallow bodies,
hold them down.
Hundreds perish in the rage.

I fold two napkins, dim the lights,
and think of wrought injustices
that play like records combed by ruts.
As we whip piles of white potatoes
into peaks, butter bread,
utter words of gratitude,
the first survivor climbs to shore
with a dead baby in his arms.
Cranberry relish from tilted spoons
stains the tablecloth like blood.

11/27/2003
Janet Buck is a regular contributor to Ariga. Her most recent poem here was The Blue Plate

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