An anthology of womanist poems for the times.
DIANA FERRUS (South Africa)
This Song of Freedom
this song of freedom
fades, sounds futile
when a lone gunman
loaded with hatred
expels from his chest
unfounded fear onto people
who have never hated him
never demanded from him
anything
but their dignity
******************************
MIRIAM ALVES (Brazil)
Womanly
the present the search
the fire the escape
the hoarse-mute words
another being
another order
breaking loneliness
sleeping nightmares
waking hope
involved in warm embraces
in the king-size bed of dreams
we face lust
shameless
passing the warm tongue on the lips of the moral
causing unsettling spasms
without raising flags or skirts
seeing the final barriers come down
when we kiss in the square
******************************
MAKHOSAZANA XABA (South Africa)
Sister to Sister
He told me about you
Even when I disagreed
He named our two children
after the two he had with you.
His wish was that his children
Visit South Africa, some day
Can we talk – sister to sister –
before I take you to his grave?
******************************
CHERYL L CLARKE (USA)
Brief Interval
I knew what I was about stroking
your lovely neck in the perilously brief
interval at the intersection of desire, the real,
and feminist derring-do.
And if the intersection is three or four points
of variance, divergence, diversion,
aversion, and hapless brief interval
larger than the grid,
in dread of a walled corner,
a piano stool, a contraband .38,
and that flip of an eye eros,
oh, throat
I don’t do well with expectation.
Come up here if it’s too cool a story
below with your windows cracked.
Higher is warmer
in this last, fast phantasmic
interval.
******************************
JACKIE KAY (Scotland)
A Banquet for The Boys
For MK, Andy, Phazey, B-man and Bailout
When your foot was stood on and you couldn’t stand
And you couldn’t cook for Phazey or B-man,
I ordered you a feast to lend a helping hand:
For your benevolence, some baba ghanoush
And for your fidelity, your empathy – fattoush,
For your brotherly ways, some moujaddara set al beit.
For Black Lives Matter some bamieh bil zeit
Tabbouleh since you’re all trans-affirming bros.
Halloumi to hail the halo round your afro.
Zucchini since you’re so queer affirming,
Makdous, moutabal for loving diversity and the mandem.
Restorative justice in a Vegan Lovers’ Platter.
For love, for the love of protest – pickles, bread.
For keeping your head, boys, for knowing what matters.
******************************
ANNI DOMINGO (Sierra Leone)
Empty Cradle
Joyful announcement, their angel child,
O, what a picture, what a photograph.
Rock-a-bye baby, no bundle of joy,
silently cradling my bundle of pain,
searing ache for lost precious child. Nothing.
Lightweight-heavy in love-hate arms,
they cannot conceive, they do not know,
the brutal cruelty of perpetually failing.
Internal clock ticking a tick-tock
longing for that missing child. Nothing.
Children, children everywhere.
Pregnant women, smoking, drinking,
beachball bulge proudly thrusting.
When the wind blows, kicking, punching,
coveting that special child. Nothing.
Desperately counting calendar days,
coaxing tired love-machine erect.
Crying hurry, hurry, do it now!
A million baby kisses I’ll deliver,
praying, aching for a heart-child. Nothing.
Waterlogged ovaries, fallopian tire-tubes,
legs strung up like hunks of meat,
cells dividing on clear plastic dish.
Cradle falling as the bough breaks,
conceiving clinically, a spirit-child. Nothing.
Heart rapidly beating tattoo of hope,
spark of fragile humanity lighting.
One-day pregnant, then bleeding hell,
no cradle to rock.
Departing your fantasy-child. Nothing.
Hear me, angels, Mother Mary, all.
Frenzied rhythm of despair, pounding
on hassock, pew and chancel floor.
By the light of the silvery moon,
cursing dreams of miracle-child. Nothing.
Heart’s burning ashes smouldering,
Flickering flames of desire dying.
Cruel reality, an empty womb.
Aged clock will never strike one.
Dream-child, heart-child, desired child. Nothing.
******************************
KADIJA SESAY (Sierra Leonie/UK)
Stilled Tragedy
Photographer arrives in Congo
within minutes of her loss.
Dead baby granddaughter in her arms.
Hot tears, warm body;
cocooned by family of women.
Their tragedy and grief encapsulated
for a contest,
a moneyed prize of thousands.
Who wins?
Photographer arrives in Haiti
within hours of her distress
sends zoomed-in snaps of ripped flesh,
separated limbs, rubbled homes, tented grief;
children with no hands to wipe away their tears
sent by satellite to the newspaper
waiting on standby –
the first to transfer this agony to the world.
No contest. The prize?
First on the scene. Front-page news.
Pat on the back. Money via bacs.
Who wins?
******************************
ANA-MAURINE LARA (Dominican Republic)
La Zafra
For Lorgia
The cane is cut
and the air is filled
with ash white as bone,
soft as feathers.
The sticky, bitter scent
of molasses catches
in our throats.
The soil is soaked with blood
red as the line of sugar
dripping from the cane
against machetes.
We drift among the remains,
our eyes search for other eyes,
the reflection of light
on green waters dances,
a shiny, glimmering flash
through the smoke.
We know then
that flicker of flame
dancing white hot on waves.
We know then
we are the water
the earth the wind
the fire itself,
the circumstance
through which this moment
becomes. We know then
the wounds are only
of flesh and
of heart and yet
here we are:
drifting among the ashes
present to the stars, the sun,
witness to the night, the instant
when it shifts into dawn.
******************************
OLUMIDE POPOOLA (Nigeria/Germany)
mercy killing
how? mend among the broken
clad shadows with mornings
unforgiving memories with release
how? not always politely
turn, turn, turn both cheeks
wear the mourning like we bear
like we bear everything
if you dish it
and say: it’s culture
witness not only the holy
outpourings and grant them
respect it wouldn’t return
hanging on the front cover*
like rolling stones
hanging on to dear life
undo. that spirit’s meaning
from every drip of ink
impeccable, sown across
the vastness, the depths
of longing belonging
until death do us part
there, amongst the elders
place that anguish
pushing, ask: how?
don’t forgive cause
some dress it: it’s culture
then clothe it in mortal sin
so impeccably woven
as if the vastness, as if the depths
did not swallow us without mercy
* In October 2010 the Ugandan newspaper Rolling Stone published the names and photos of ‘top homos’ next to the headline ‘Hang Them’, ‘to protect Ugandans from the recruitment of children to homosexuality’. The death penalty for repeat ‘offenders’ introduced in 2009 has in part been inspired by a group of us evangelicals with close ties to the country.
Extracted from Wild Imperfections, out now.
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compiled and edited by Natalia Molebatsi
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