LAMENT FOR ATHANASIUS LA BORDE

Athanasius La Borde is beating his drum;

is beating his drum on a ledge over-looking
Barre-de-lisle.
On a terrace in Aux Lyons; on a terrace
Above Mabouya river.
An nous remercier Bon Dieu! Praise God for his light!

Rain comes babbling through the leaves, washing our face

with its brown water: a drum is beating our song
on heart strings, the valley is alive with voices
crisp, like the crunch of earth under a plough whose sound
is muted because of the music Athanasius
La Borde keeps beating on a goat skin drawn tight
across our minds. Hosanna! Chant Hosanna
on a high note, for the drum Athanasius Laborde
keeps on beating from the empty plastic chair.
that is white with the stain of epic memory.

The drum cannot be silenced even when his hands

drop silent. But his hands cannot stay still. Cannot
Be stopped again by the blade that robbed him
the chance to pause. If not it will wave with a noise
like rain over the valley, making a noise
like Athanasius La Borde beating his drum.

Generations will come to these hills where the wind

comes through a cleft in the rocks just to hear him play.
Voices sleeping from centuries gone, under the sea
will rise. The dead and the living will come
For Athanasius La Borde is beating his drum.