June 2014, following Satao's murder,
when I asked out loud if I could bear to feel elephant
with faces hacked off the living for ivory, sorrow threw me to the ground,
heaving and breathless.
There is a book about how Satao was so close to God.
And how taking him was like ripping God's eyes out.
That book is a short poem in two lines I just wrote
with end notes a thousand lives long.
I recoil in this dance at the grave.
Let me listen. And,
if I speak, just enough.
in love, meg
Photo of Satao © Mark Deeble & Victoria Stone.