In Malaysia,
they no longer take heads: the White Rajah
put a stop to it, despite threats to his life,
and now, they say, everyone hunts money
instead of heads. I am discounting dangers
as I find them: Malaccan pirates. Kupuas
mud snake. In East Malaysia, where you are,
orangutans, elephants, fruit bats,
the Sumatran rhinoceros, even
the clouded leopard. I remember the picture
you sent, you filthy and tired (did you stage this
for our amusement?), captioned: “Me
and Elder D got lost in the jungle
for two hours.” Borneo’s jungles are not
two hour jungles, I fear, and I am
silently begging you not to get lost:
not to find the last, lost tribe
of headhunters. Not to find new evidence
of ancient human remains in the Niah Caves.
Not to contact the Clouded Leopard people
with a proposal to trade with them
their gold, camphor, tortoise shells,
hornbill ivory, rhinocerous horn,
crane crest, beeswax, dragon’s blood,
rattan, edible bird’s nests or spices
for your word of God or holy books.
Do not swashbuckle or snake wrangle.
Come home soon.
Come home soon.
