Now That I Live Among the Baboons

Penelope Schott

Now that I live among the baboons,

a black river divides days from days. It floats away

what I have failed to do.

The black river mocks my housekeeping. Hooligan baboons

leap crocodile to log.

They swipe the ripest fruit along the bank. Often they pelt me

with seeds and husks.

The river doesn’t remember my father. The dreams it carries

are rudderless.

And yet I discover,

as it flows past baboons on its prodigal way home,

that this living river travels freighted with stars.