Shifting Ground

It seems news that shifts the ground I stand on must always find me kneeling on these brown tiles. Always the bearer of the news is the woman who bore me passage into this world, with this ground that never promised to stand still. And yet I have caught myself, unbelievably stunned when again it… Continue reading Shifting Ground

Before you (III)

I was fifteen when I first read Maya Angelou's "I know why the caged bird sings." I wasn't yet old enough to understand the packed importance of that work. But even then, I found it to be the kind of poetry I'd return to every once in a while. To trace the words slowly, deliberately… Continue reading Before you (III)

Seli laka

Ntate. Modimo wakaUng'ratile. Kea leboha thataUng'tlolofetse. Kea leboha thataJoale uyang'rataLibe uyang'tsoarelaSeli la bophelo bakaKe ho bone MolokiKe amohetsoe ke uena MorenaHolokile holokileKenale thaboKenale kgotsoKenale bophilo

Stay (I)

Kokobetso le bomma bahae haven't so much as had a conversation in weeks. Not since that irritably hot afternoon with insects buzzing everywhere, when Koko was kneeling on the concrete slabs, outside their red-brick house, listening to bomma as though finally hearing her for the first time. And yet she'd in fact done so all… Continue reading Stay (I)