VILLAGE GIRLS CRY
He got me from the bush, where I had lived for eternity. His sharp gray beards resembled the goat’s, and when he brightened up, his scrawled face surfaced, exposing his dangling yellowish teeth.
“Mandisa, be a good girl to your husband!” My mama whispered in my ear.
I didn’t want to go, no! But my papa would have resented me, his sticky fingers grabbed mine tightly. I was a nine-year-old, so young and naive, when he paid my bride price.
“Haar borste is Klein, maar sy is pragtig.” He murmured.
He was right by one thing, indeed my breasts were still thin.
NO MOURNERS
On my deathbed, lay no mourners
Neither my wives, sons nor daughters
For I shall be at peace
The crawling cries from the north
Here and there
Up and down
My graveyard,
Then Tina shall collapse,
Preach she and I dwelled.
Blowing my name
For I shall tarnish unease
The humiliating laughs from the south
Toss and turn
Over and above
My boneyard,
I shall decay with no mourners
Neither my wives, sons nor daughters
For I shall be gone.