BY ABIGAIL GEORGE
(for my sister)
The day has
a mothlike quality to it. I make a cup of tea (always for one). Boil the
water in the
microwave oven while
make way for new poems. Once, I lived in grassroots country. Rural
(Boarding school). Slowly
my flesh is emptying out. Winter making way for spring’s milky sweetness,
summer’s pleasure and
waves of heat, autumn’s gift.
Slowly, I climb back
into their world. Standing in the sun sipping my cup of tea for one.
I sit and watch the
afternoon warming the page in front of me.
BY CECILY CAMARA
I float through my kind of house
late at night.
I eat exotic foods
which does nothing for my cholesterol.
I travel to places of interest to me
where I meet a stinking rich, very
old man who gives me the time of my life.
In return I promise to spoil him to death.
That’s without even getting out of bed.
BY RAPHAEL D’ABDON
some one night stands
begin with a glance
BY KWENZEKILE NTLATI
The doctor looked at me,
Smiled and said,
Outside he waited.
In silence we walked to a nearby dingy coffee shop.
I ordered water.
He didn’t want anything.
‘Too much coffee while I waited’
He said nervously.
‘Doctor told you what’s wrong?’
I said flatly.
‘What?’ he asked cautiously.
I threw the words out carelessly,
the way the sea churns out dirt from its core.
And then slowly his lips parted
revealing a row of snow white straight teeth.
A smile I had fallen in love with
many years ago.
he held me so tenderly,
as tenderly as he had done in a time very distant from now.
But I knew that the tenderness
was not meant for me,
but for the part of him
growing inside me.