(Photograph by Gathondu Mwangi)


Mother lies on my bed,
Spoiling my view of the Magalies-
Berg, rolling on, across my window,
Her fingers fuss, fret
Over frayed paper,
Shred it ever finer,
She has an idea, another baby,
“I know it will go well this time, I know”
She’s fifty-five, not old,
Like Mogale, and his hills,
Always beginning, always moving,
They unroll, like a slow whip lash,
Pause at the feet of a suburb,
Another mother, Melodi’s,
Lent her name,
I wonder …

Waiting for Patience

She repeats herself like she’s history,
Says we’ll meet at this come that time,
When really she means later perhaps never,
Her way of teaching me, I suppose
Later at dinner, she takes the seat opposite,
Sits, stands, shifts a slight right,
Talks tangentially,
Better to face life slant her angle says,
Patience plays.
Of her second divorce and marriage that followed,
Patience says, “sweetie, love like law has to be practised,
one day, it will be perfect.”
We practice loving in her room upstairs,
“Come on top, I like to feel covered”

Gathondu Mwangi @gathondum is a student of geography and poetry. Originally from Nairobi, Kenya, he currently resides in Massachusetts, USA. His work has been published in South African literary spaces including Botsotso and LitNet.