Jesse Ojuka

The volcano wakes, spewing smoke into the air
It cries now like a deep trombone
Most block their ears to continue battering in markets
Others stop and stare, eyes wide like cats in the night
Few drop their baskets and race home to tell their mothers they love them
They jump into the river they have been ignoring for years
They smile at whistling robins
Their eyes drink in the blue sky
They feel the sun caress their cheeks like a warm palm
The glory rings like heavenly trumpets
They smile and laugh to themselves, like wise madmen
And when the volcano erupts cataclysmic ash into the sky
They are the only ones who don’t cry