“Am a man” he says, The first being Don’t forget you came from me and not me from you Keep your voice low Cry on the pillow Don’t let them know It’s a shame Just do this for me Very simple Cook for me Wash for me Part your legs for me And don’t even…
Self-Negotiation
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…
A Deceptive Devil
You Chase her up hills and down valleys In the name of ‘love’ Easily she gives in Believing in so-called promises And ‘heaven like’ vows Luring her into indecent assaults Thinking she is impressing, She does it heartfelt Later you offer her gifts Penny in addition for ‘up keep’ Pretending to be loving and caring…
Threshold (For my sisters rejecting FGM)
I am seventeen The moon giggles shyly and caresses the skies Sipi Falls cascade in a wave of excitement. I waltz with the falls downstream A tinge of warmth engulfs me My feet rub… My future. The village awakes It is the rite season The search… She descends with a knife I grip my tears…
A Kind Of Architectural Grief
In the place of slaughter blood stains are not an anomaly. Normally, the stain of love begins with a government’s betrayal, a sacrilegious feast on the battered dreams of migrant workers chimurenga wars and forgotten anthems of freedom. a salary and a salt plea for…
Mothers Sing a Lullaby
(after the 1994 Rwandan genocide) Mothers sing a lullaby As the dark descends on trees Shutting out shadows. The sensuous voices swish and swirl Around shrubs and overgrown grass Hiding mountains of decapitated dead And the glint of machetes That slashed shrieking throats. In these camps without happiness Mothers maintain the melody of life Capturing…
Beauty in Brokenness
Write about your brokenness This is what My heart whispers to me every time I try to create something beautiful. How ironic because most of my life I’ve been trying to find wholeness so I can finally feel beautiful. But what is beauty? Is there a formula that determines what we can classify as beautiful?…
Dark Skin Blues
You said that I represented evil. The shadow of the night glistened on my skin. You blatantly associated me with tar because my melanin glowed under the sun. You said that my existence was a misrepresentation of beauty. So, you wrapped me under your arm like a clutch bag and led me through the dark…
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….
Do I have what it takes?
I am walking barefoot with my head hung On edge of my fears, Daunted in the color of my skin, Dodging bullets that come towards me, But I feel riddled with holes, With a rumble on my chest Sneaking in doubts and question marks, Causing cracks on chest Tanks, But the drums on my my…