My Grandfather’s Hand
My grandfather’s hand was a leaving song;it was cold, like my mother’s kitchenwhen the utensils languished in idleness.Lines ran through it like a crumbling... Read more.
The First Day I Saw Freedom Dance
It was a sunny day in June,the first day freedom danced,licking a stick of Vanilla ice cream.She was beautiful like the moon,tall like a giraffegazing through a... Read more.
The Journey
I set outbelieving I was going to land in Heaven,that I would pluck plums from the sky.Here, the roses have withered,oranges rotted;the ground is hard, uncultivable,earth’s... Read more.
Worth a Million
I was sitting on the fielddrinking tea on a low stoolwhich I bought at the flea marketthe other day I went round the cityvisiting fellow hungry artistswho threw... Read more.