THE FIRST POET

Poetry was born on a dark night
in Africa, on the plains
where a few of our early ancestors
were gathered around the fire
telling and retelling
the story of that day’s hunt,
how they had stalked and
killed with their wooden spears
the animal whose flesh
they now shared,
along with the wild fruits and nuts
and berries they had gathered,
and one grew restless
and wandered off a ways
into the darkness, tilted back
his head and stretched his body
until he stood erect as he
looked up at the night sky
— all those stars! —
scratched his head and wondered,
“Why?”