Martine van Bijlert

fenced in and kept safe

to live on a compound surrounded
by mountains and desert
and a chain link fence

inside, everything flown in
and condensed into a miniature city

outside, heat and wind
and grass that rustles when touched

the slow movement of a scorpion
carrying a pale translucent body on thin legs

who can be blamed for believing in monsters?

next to there is no such thing as
there’s always something

that comes amazingly close

weirdly striped horses
mammals shaped like leathery rocks

maybe we destroy so casually
because it’s simply too much

maybe to have just ten animals
and a chance to watch them move—

whenever I watch a bird hop
—which is not often

it’s a whole world to me

 

Martine van Bijlert is a poet, novelist and non-fiction writer who grew up in Iran, now lives in the Netherlands and, in between, worked as an aid worker, researcher and diplomat, mostly in Afghanistan—a country they still closely follow from afar.