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…
Dreams To Write
We are Writers with a licence to create We stand at the margins Prying like investigators Probing like hackers Hording experiences to make stories And poetry Of what we see What to feel What to touch What to taste With the stage is set We perform We tickle your bellies with our word play Your…
The 3rd
1- My rebelliousness cowered at the sound of bullets and teargas. 2- I stood behind my parents words and their fear of losing me in the mess. 3- Collapsing needs one to be standing.. but I was already lying down when my mother called to tell me about the news she was watching on TV….
Black List
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…
Nya Ku Toc
It’s sarcastic how girls at seventeen, Who should have been singing, Baba black sheep or father Abraham, Are singing songs like, He has played me, he has played me. Trashed my heart, took my virginity. And so forth, and so on. And, and you wonder where kids learn songs. This poem was inspired by…
My younger sister (How these things go)
She is the size of my palm the day I first see herwrithing in white slime, hair slicked backlike wet maize tassels on her head For a few weeks her skin shedsand we joke about how muchthe chunks of dead skinon the soft spot of her head, weigh When she clocks 18 she is a…
Looking Forward
Hanging on small dreams the year folds itself in the tired sunset like a mimosa leaf It murmurs and screams new names old promises lies retold at the same place where songs are set on the loose in unplumbed laughter and tears We lay wreaths of frustration with no other option but to see hope…
Micropoems
Beauty There is beauty in stubbornness. in falling down, and picking yourself up Is it not the rising and falling of the waves that keeps the Ocean alive? ****** Find Yourself I provide you with water in a bowl, kneeling with love, Waiting for you to sip it all. Something about the way you Sip…
For the blues
It’s 4am and you’re awake like your body’s been paged. You’re wondering if it will be worth it to sleep for 30 more minutes before starting your day. They’re playing a senseless song on the radio and it feels like such a waste of airplay. So you tuck yourself in to rest your brain. You’re…