... She steps on coal that numbs her amputated foot, slides on the shades of volcanic reds and oranges as her face gazes upon the skys blues, her fingers recall the textures of the reeds, the clays and the beads of the Zulu, her heart credits the beats as the clots nolonger resemble blood but packages of death, she looks for her self in mirrors, thoughts and books, but her consciousness defies the connection, her upper limbs fall off like burnt wood, as sh reaches for a son she bore, laying on the ground like a sack his flesh knows not a gulp of breath no more, as her doek unties itself, the dams dismiss their walls, the skies light candles as sh swallows the icy stones, and watches them dig a hole, quite big enough to be a home, - for her sons body..
Posted on: Fri, 04 Apr 2014 22:00:40 +0000
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