Acacia trees are most commonly found in Africa’s savannas.
They stand alone, upright, tall, and
leafy, casting shade on giraffes—an escape of noonday
Serengeti heat. The darkness of the
wood contrasts sharply against the wide, green leaves that
photosynthesize eagerly in the brutal
African sun; light courses through their stringy veins. Their branches
have thorns, two inches
long. When they shed, it is impossible to walk near them. The thorns
pierce shoes like lions’
teeth pierce the necks of baby gazelles. Weaver birds weave homes
amongst the tops, avoiding
thorns, making shelter where shelter shouldn’t be made. After the
rainy season, the trees
produce small flowers, bright yellow like the papyrus warbler.
When the flowers are fried, they
taste of honey. That night, you really wanted those honey flowers,
so I decided to brave the
thorns. You didn’t notice my speckled, red feet.
About Acacias
Melanie Han is an avid traveler and poet. She was born in Korea and grew up in East Africa. She has won awards from In 100 Words and Lyric, and her poetry has appeared in Fathom Mag, Ruminate, and Among Worlds, among others.