Snapsong 89: The Harmattan

By Niyi Osundare

Here, again, the harmattan

(late this season, like the one before)

gusty guest

with a loud Sahara sigh

furtive fingers

beneath my faithful blanket

doctorly touch

to my cracked, unwilling lips

the charm and chill

of a short, compelling spell

clattering anthem

of dry, exploding pods

the seed and the soil

and the light-tempered sun

footprint of ants

on my dusty desk

fire on the mountain

fire on the mountain

deep-orange skies

and nights of frightening glow

whip in one hand

balm in the other

this restless Northeasterner

is a quick, demanding guest