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…
Treason
How do I plead? Guilty. Today I committed treason. My eyelids separated before the birds could disturb the tranquility of the dark right after the morning stars stood bright and firm. I took my gun a BIC well-oiled with blue ink and my dog eared notebook and boom! I killed you Mr. President emptying seven…
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…
The Plead for Change
Change! Change! Change! There was no response Yet I plead for change not to change Growing up, I thought my generation and That of my children are going to be the best But now, I strummer and stagger Yes we all want change We don’t know weather The change will be positive or negative The…
I Forgive You
I forgive you for the silence you become in the face of awkwardness, anger and emotions. I forgive you for sometimes abandoning me when I need you the most. I forgive you for that time when I was seven years old when you disappeared. I forgive you for not remembering the things you need to…
Black Queen
Ayo sis! Why do u still let him Let him hit you Smug you Belittle you Oh I don’t like your hair babe That handsome baritone voice man says U ain’t that pretty babe you need make up Don’t embarrass me That man you call half be says Sis Nooooo! Hes no man! He’s a…
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…
Last Supper
Lay me soft on green grass like an offering. Take off my clothes one at a time like you are opening the Holy Book. Read the verses of my body until you master all chapters. Drink from my river of life Make me your altar wine your last supper. Welcome to my ecclesia! Let’s sing…
Priscilla Ayuen
Priscilla Ayuen is 22 years old, she studies Business and Management Science at the University of Juba. Her pen name is Wingless Bird, a name she cherishes and means a lot to her, although she doesn’t use it when introducing herself on stage, where she is always and completely herself. A stage she wants to…
When is it right to rape a woman
Why? Silenced cries Sealed behind doors of blame Her breasts linger out Like ripe mangoes Sending me invitations Her skirt barely covered her thighs Made my blood hot I said, “Yes, that’s why it was right” She wanted the piece of my manhood into her Thrusting thrusting When is it right to rape a woman…