April 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

bad poetry comes from the heart,

good words live in the belly- kawaida.

this is africa

an africa without mice rain and endless conversation

one stops, another begins- no, under the baobab

a daughter gives her son silence

her mother moringa

what separates us here, so far

from africa. from africa

is not silence. it’s the endless, coming

words. the mouths we use

are hers.


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