by Matthew McCormack

Edward’s Field was home to 4,000 displaced people during ethnic clashes in Kenya in 2008-09. The field is part of the Franciscan Brothers Agriculture College in Baraka

Now it is a charcoal stroke
Slashing the contours of Baraka Hill
Then belly-up splashed sun white
On a yellow weed canvas
To again dive screeching
“I’m king, eagle of the skies”

Stained grass squares down in Edward’s field
IDP camp memories whispering
“We were once safe here”
Across the hills fields run loose
Unwired from their stapling posts
Hacked eucalyptus giants and panga slashed suckers
Screaming symbols of deeds the new year brought

He lay there hands astray stoned to death
Veronica’s kanga hiding his face of shame
Amidst the smoking beams the charred screaming torso
Wind clapping iron sheets mocking
The fight was on

Stone walled houses with gouged out windows
Stand roof bald in the wind
Others a cemented floor slab
Life’s memories strewn charred and dead
Holy family church itself a funeral pyre
The donkeys and stray dogs wait or stray
Gone are the people themselves to stray or clay bound lay

Perched atop Baraka Hill stands thatched
A house of prayer for all peoples
And a cross where muezzin eagles
Shout to a god who has landed
Down in Edward’s field.