A silver fish swallowed my mother

  • 0

I have lived in many houses. If you 
divide the years of my life by the number 
of spaces I have occupied, I have lived in 
each house a number of apocalyptic 
years. I have waited too long to write 
down the thoughts of my mother, her 
yarns on good housekeeping, her tips 
on hauling furniture over the lengths and 
breadths of our beloved continent. 
My mother once whitewashed 
the house on Julius Nyerere Avenue. 
She was 
in her white period. 
White, like the fishermen’s cottages 
in her favourite tapestry of the Sardinian Sea. 
Blinded by the glare, my father drove by 
twice. He found us accidentally, when my 
brother lit a Lucky Strike and set the garden 
shed on fire. We were reunited by a smoke 
column hanging over Julius Nyerere Avenue. 
These days, a faded blue tapestry reflects 
my mother’s warped mumblings. 
         What were you thinking, Mother? 
         I have tried to trace your stitches, 
         analyse the thread leading 
         to a diminishing monologue. 
The thoughts of my mother 
were swallowed by a silver fish.




  • 0


Jou e-posadres sal nie gepubliseer word nie. Kommentaar is onderhewig aan moderering.