A History In 21 Chapters

Arriving unexpectedly, I was alone,
a blind sculptor with no tools.

I learned to carve and cajole nature
into meeting my aspirations.

Feeling smug and crudely comfortable,
I set out to conquer new lands.

In my tenanted solitude, I roamed
the beach and found a footprint.

Making contact, my neighbour and I
sought ways to hide our disappointment.

A need for something more than coconuts
and fish led to a joint enterprise.

Soon other settlers arrived in canoes:
they tilled our land and cooked our food.

Now we could fell trees to make fire
and build shelters to keep out storms.

We made a harbour, and began to exchange
our surplus goods for luxuries.

The village grew as those with other identities
arrived with new customs and beliefs.

Then I was appointed king, being worshipped
or blamed according to the season.

Several bad harvests and a failed scheme
to harness the ocean hastened our end.

We could not agree on the best way to live:
so many chose dissent and migration.

Those remaining built statues to gods
and studied the patterns of stars.

One morning I awoke to see great ships
sipping the waves like thirsty dogs.

My subjects had been packaged, exported,
exchanged for religion and disease.

Only my first neighbour lay on the sand,
two curious holes in his still frame.

I knelt by his side and turned to gaze
at the one statue left standing.

Briefly I considered carving some clue
to our sad, unrecorded history.

But the coming rains meant fresh water
and the need to make preparations.

I took up a spear and staggered
through the shallows to catch more fish.


Jeff Gallagher

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Jeff Gallagher would be pleased to hear them