wildscape. literary journal

Meeting the Bush Doctor
by Deanna Altomara

Rondevlei Nature Preserve, Cape Town, South Africa

We begin with a shell,
as we all do,
small as pearls, sheltered in a fleshy womb,
growing by millimeters and heartbeats.

We begin with a shell,
the shell as a hearthstone,
its soft mouth thick with ashy smoke,
the crackling blades of rhinobush, snakebush, and pepper
rising in the air like incense,

rising through the veins of a sparse-leaved tree,
rising towards a clear blue sky,
where the Milky Way, invisible, alive,
guides spirits along its path.
Spirits who once held this shell, breathed this smoke,
inhaled this sky.
Smell is a memory,
and memories don’t die.
Memories listen, memories speak,
memories rise.

The bushman passes along his artifacts,
one by one, sharing
stories he will not let die.
Sweet bark for sweet speech,
mountain garlic, camphor, ginger, buchu,
an ostrich egg, brimming with water and sprinkled with herb.

Taste, feel, breathe, he says.
Listen, speak, rise.

about the author // Deanna Altomara