South Africa (Mzansi), my Next Destination

The Rain Queen of Limpopo She stands where cycads guard the ridge,   a hush between the thunder and the root,   Modjadji—whose breath is weather,   whose palms keep the ledger of clouds.   No iron crown, no clattering court,   only woven cloth and whispered rites;   she speaks in names the sky remembers,   and fields reply with green and grain.   When drought leans close she lifts a song,   and distant horizons answer in silver;   children learn to watch her shadow,   farmers mark the rhythm of her hands.   Generations fold into her name,   a river of women calling rain—   and in the hush before the first drop,   the land remembers who will listen.