I S S U E 7

Roy McFarlane

To the Heron who stood with me in the ruins of another black man’s life

after Gwendolyn Brooks 

To the Heron long and lean standing still on the corners

where the waters bend; to the Heron gracefully grey

poised at the water’s edge; to the Heron painted

in the tapestry of reeds, waiting, waiting—I want 

to learn the art of waiting in these dread full times

thick engulfing, choking times; to the Heron 

long-limbed, taking one, two steps, stretching 

those wings leaping like Jordon—to rise 

in brilliance; to all Herons from the lineage 

of Bennu He who came into being by himself.

To all the Herons left school, real cool;

to the Heron lurking late in summertime; 

to the Heron with the slow wing beats 

of a double-bass on a Jazz June evening; 

to the Heron motionless, still standing still; 

to Gil Scott-Heron whilst I’m here standing 

in the ruins of another black man’s life . . . I am Death 

cried the Vulture for the people of the light, yet, here 

we stand on the muddy banks alive longing for change; 

to all those gliding towards the sunset, beautiful is your name.

Roy McFarlane was born in Birmingham and lives in the Black Country. His latest book is The Healing Next Time (Nine Arches, 2018).