You return again and again to the bones of your ancestors

You return again and again to the bones of your ancestors.

Smooth as silk and bleached by the sun

you caress the softness of them

and can feel the place where healing took place after a bad break.

Kneeling, body sinking heavy into hot sand

you gently lift each femur and rib-bone

nuzzle each knuckle and toe.

You need answers.

Your people are dying.

Murdered and hunted,

thirsty and ravaged

you cover miles of terrain each day, exhausted

but still cannot sleep at night.

There is an ache in your chest

that will not go away

even when you breath deeply

or splash cool water over your arching back.

The old stories don’t hold true anymore,

the old songlines are broken, like so many tattered maps blowing in the wind.

You lay with your family under the full moon and

remember the days when the water was sweet

and your belly was round with child

and how the food practically dripped from the trees.

You look up at the stars and wonder how it got to be this way,

so broken.

And so you return again and again to the bones of your ancestors

looking for answers in the curve of a vertebrae

or the jagged edge of a

sawed off tusk.


Elephants, keepers of the ancient memories. What can I say? What explanation can I give? That my people are touched by madness? That we are intoxicated with power and drunk on destruction? That we will not settle until this planet is dead and we choke on our own boiling rage?

I don’t have any answers. If I could I would sit at your feet and listen. I would travel many miles upon your broad backs to the place where the river meets the sea and play in the water with your young ones.

But I’m here. In my small house next to my own small, sleeping child.

My people are young compared to yours

and stupid.

We have so much to learn from you,

but I’m afraid it may already be too late.

Your numbers are dwindling,

your grief must be very great and difficult to carry.

I want you to know mine is too.

I wish there was more I could do.

Thank you.
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
I love you.

Thank you for listening,



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