The woman recalls
That she was once a member
Of a family of giraffes.
Their warm hides
Baked the air like bricks.
The strength of the giraffe lies in its neck,
That long and muscular column.
Its suffering also lies in its neck,
Bent over low, tropical trees.

One day the landscape was blotted out,
Gone were the heads, the slender knees, the spotted backs.
All that remained were the necks, the oblique necks of the giraffes
Confounded amidst blank paper
Like the boarding stairs at airports
Dragged off over the wet runway
When the planes have left.