• Imani Parker

The Intricacies of Memory

Updated: Sep 28, 2020

She lies beside him, burrowing herself into the roughness of his face,

studying his veins, his cracks, his infinite lines. 

He is coated in an amalgam of mud, and dried elephant tears. And as he bleeds

she tries to hold him together with the curve of her trunk. 

In heavy silence, blood seeps out like the milk in a broken coconut. 

With the tip of her trunk, she paints a sanctuary 

just for the two of them. Red. 

It is here, in the stillness, that they exist. That they are finally allowed to be.

To breathe.

Ragged breaths feel like first breaths. A sharp inhale, and she can remember

falling out of her mother’s womb. 

Back when he didn’t exist to her. 

Back when there were more of them. 

With a bigger body, comes a bigger heart for holding love

And with a larger mind, unbelievable intricacies of memory.

They belonged to each other.  They belong to each other. 

The hunting and slaying is evident in the red,

but they remain. 

He leans into her. He was her strength. Her wanderer.

She will be his strength now, easing fears of the poachers,

of the ivory hungry, of the man that made him bleed.

It’s wicked that he has to fear men.

That they have to fear men,

despite being gargantuan. 

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