The thought of physical contact has begun to scare you again. 1. One morning, in the middle of breakfast making, your mother’s relative reaches out and grabs at your breast. Your mind trips into your memory and you are seven years old and another woman is playing x and o’s with your privates. 2. Maybe…
My son Nok
You turn your head away“He is my son”, I say“He was taken out of my grip”, I sayHe learnt how to shoot with a gun. He shot from village to villageenemies we all becamelapena leaves couldn’t hide uswe were handed blankets, beans and poshointernally displaced we became. Then I heard he was dead.“He is my…
Remember The Days, Big Butt?
I remember the days when they called me Big Butt, imitated my walk, and stared. “Do you walk like that on purpose?” Today, they hold the titles for the biggest butts in show business, Australia, the world. The day they smelled chocolate. I said it was cocoa butter and they exclaimed, “Why would you put…
Since you attended my funeral, I’ll also attend yours
Since you attended my funeral, I’ll also attend yours I’ll arrive just before the coffin Enters the church And join the line of weepers. Weepers, mind you, not mourners. Weeping is the physical evidence for facebook That people actually cared about you. But mourning… Mourning is the spiritual evidence That people actually cared about you….
The Gloria/Ascension
My darkest moments are those leading to my success,a hesitation where I question – do I deserve this?where my ambition drains like a time lapse in reverseand I set out to seek a great perhaps through verse. Notes tuck themselves back into books,passages fold themselves into memoriesmy tongue reabsorbs every spoken wordwhich precipitates into a…
Nyeri
I almost became that man’s second wifeI twisted my underwear here and thereI hynoptised myself that he was the oneI always thought of him. Whenever he sent me a text message“I suit you like the cover of a jerican”I would swing my hips to his tuneHe was my man. I waited for him at the…
Vanessa Chisakula
Vanessa Chisakula is a Zambian poet, who first discovered her writing wits after becoming a mother. She uses poetry as a tool to advocate for women’s rights and to address social issues like mental health. Vanessa believes in a world where art can bring a change by bridging divides and conveying the youth’s creative potential…
Circle of women
Your head is a hiveyou are not sure you will survive.Women form a circle around youIn their eyes, your stories flow like The Nile.They collect themand hand you the cup. Go aheadthey saybut you hesitate. It’s okaythey sayand you receive. You raise the cup to your lipsand pass…
Unmarried
Mama said I atemy husbands.Seasoned themwith my saltyattitude andboiled them ina black pot onthe night of thewaning moon. She claims thatmy saggy beastsare an attestationto my disgraceas a womanand my mortarisn’t fit forpounding groundnuts. My body isa fictional tale.She claims thatI’m not fitto lay on the groundthat holds thesemen of myancestors.My complaintsunder the sunare equivalentto…
Fixable
You are fixable Hold my hand and let me mend your brokenness. It will hurt less the falling and crushing You will get better at sculpturing your bits and pieces. I won’t leave. I’ll wait for daybreak and we’ll figure out what to do with all this sunshine. *** Link to the Italian translation