Paleo Truleo, by Daniel Lusk

New Guinea Clay Man, for National Geographic, by Malcolm Kirk (USA) July 1969. Photograph copyright of Malcolm Kirk, courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

 
Paleo Truleo
 
Clay man waits for ancestor to come.
Blue clay on his skin, flaking.
Waits a long time.
 
Clay jar a crude hive on his head.
Holes for breathing.
Whisk of magic leaves in his hand.
 
He is Quiet, awaiting the whisper
when old one comes.
To tell.  To command. To sing.
 
Inside his mask 
is the center of the world.
Where Silence is the heart’s thunder.
 
He is practicing an uncertain word.
To still the hammer of his pulse
in the jar.  To mend his stammer.
 
He awaits the invention of ink.
Singing to himself.  No self.
Cry like a rainy day.
 
Daniel Lusk

This poem first appeared in Every Slow Thing, by Daniel Lusk, from Kelsay Books.

Daniel Lusk is author of eight poetry collections and other books. His work is published widely in literary journals, and his genre-bending essay “Bomb” (New Letters), was awarded a 2016 Pushcart Prize. Native of the prairie Midwest and former commentator on small press books for NPR, he lives in Vermont with his wife, Irish poet Angela Patten.