Merge discrete metals to smithereens blacksmith who ain’t black and don’t smith Black Africa a golden ring with a diamond a diamond ring with a golden rim? I am Black not because I am African Black is what I feel an explicit soul speaking lingo a never melting candle lighting deeper character Africa is my…
This Loose Upon My Eyes
This loose upon my eyes Held tight in shape by society’s lies Reduced me to help Reduced me to help This loose upon my eyes Which society likes Trying to put these turkeys above me I am weak, I am starved, they might make a Panda of me They like me in this mud He…
Abigail George
Abigail George is a South-African feminist, poet and writer based in Port Elizabeth. Born in 1979, she is a prolific writer: she has written a novella, several books of poetry and collections of short stories. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of two South African National Arts Council Writing Grants and of one from the Centre for…
Invisible Cuffs
They stepped in And cuffed my hands In police custody I asked What’s my case. The state Vs Annet. He shouted. In cuffs In cuffs. Invisible cuffs. They suffocated me in my own house. He raised his hands. His finger prints stained my cheeks. In tears I asked. What’s my case? Nature Vs Annet. In…
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
I Lost My Teeth in a Fight
I. My father tries to kill me twice before the age of twelve. both times I’m a tiny thing on a floor. He breaks the branch of a jacaranda tree on my skin and I lose my voice. In both scenarios he screams: I will kill you. In both scenarios, my mother stands by and…
Float
I’d wake up at night wondering if The mildness brewing would turn into a fight Never asking if he could dump his Insecurity, his anxiety, his inability into you His semen and demons would wash away your purity Your intensity, your decency Baby faced you’d turn to me, wide eyed and frozen When he’d spread…
The Broken Mirror: to teach people to hate themselves…
Who are you? I am Angel. No, really, who are you? I am George Stop playing around! I am Hanson, Ferguson, Manson, Johnson, Ellison I am… Zombie Lost in the ways of my people, my identity, my heritage I am the soulless black-white being that haunts the screens of materialism in the face of my…
Jean Rhys
I think of the divided self of Jean Rhys in Dominica, her invisible self in London, and the depth, scope, scale of her writing: What was achievable in her lifetime is achievable now, the winter’s tale of Jean Rhys, and her tragedy of errors, of losing a child, and her failed marriages. She was a…
The Ebony of Africa
There she stands like a eucalyptus Smiles but her inside is in solemnity In her, lives the sun that threatens the darkness Her teeth clarify the milk in the ajiu* The curves of her smiles So sharp to deforest ate a lad But deep in her Runs a river of turmoil Crucification is real She…