Hame-comin - by
Hame, hame, hame on the truck,
/ the wheels grind their grumly air, …
Hame, hame, hame on the truck,
/ the wheels grind their grumly air, …
Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies.
/ No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain
/ but has her death in…
I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl—
/ Life’s little duties do—precisely
/ …
I’m getting a year of grace
from my year of pain and rage,
my year of famine —
a year to study film
production in Kinshasa
and finally come of age.