(6 poems)
by Siza Nkosi
the music that keeps me up at night
in the hour of dreams
young voices dance
to the distant doef-doef sound
of senseless lyrics
drums chant ceaselessly
to izangoma who’ve woken
the drunken spirits of their fathers
the religious ones tap and clap
at a night vigil
a coffin in the bedroom
backroom tenants
discharge sexual screams
or are they violent ones?
my heart moves between keys
trying to find the right note
to start the day
on the N17
poor man
with a red and yellow plastic bag in your hand
potatoes are scattered on the road
the rainbow chicken waiting to boil with onions
but the freeway is for cars
where were you going?
a telephone call from now
they’ll be looking to identify your body
arms stretched, head facing the other side
your body cold
like the pieces you brought for dinner
frozen, melting under the silver tinfoil
roasting like sunday lunch news
i am my mother’s daughter
my father is a white ice-cream van
that he owns and plays jazz in
and drives off with for weeks
rehearsing lines with his Kente friends
while I sit at the back seat
pushing back tears with my mouth
mama doesn’t know that
udaddy dropped his pants
and left them on the bedroom floor
and ipenty lam’ is on top of them
with blood stains
my father is the black suit
that he wears and looks dashing in
the suit makes him look respectable
mama’s heart hardens –
and breaks and slits open her skin
that’s how mama got that scar
on her face
my father is beautiful handwriting
he writes in cursive,
crosses his dots t’s and dots his i’s
my father is a writer
he wrote all the letters we found
after umngcwabo wakhe
sifake amaroko ablack
kungaphumi ngisho neliy’one
inyembezi
i wish I had a father
maybe I wouldn’t have turned out
so hard and bitter
so fragile
and scared to raise my daughters
i am my mother’s daughter
behind closed curtains
there is a room in our house
that’s draped in red curtains
behind them is a box
covered in long silence
we never let the sun in
when night falls
we go inside the room
holding white candles
open the curtains for moonlight
hold the box very close to our hearts
and remember
music tour
so where to?
dube station via the main road
jozi fm on the left
they play gospel and cheaters on thursdays
i bump into uncle ray next to the toilet
(they call the police station the toilet)
ray’s from the gibson kente days
they used to gather at his home
not far from nkathuto primary
and create plays and songs
now he exchanges his lesson on g-scale
for a quart of black
hearty’s fruit & veg ifile
but no one eats vegetables these days
behind it used to be bus terminals
hip hop the heart of this place
mcs high on politics creating passionate verses
now it’s a parking lot for sanele’s tavern
isihogo nje
my heart weeps
i pass eyethu theatre, naked on machaba drive
stop by inside out, thebe lipere’s jazz lounge
find khaya mahlangu jamming
with themba mokoena and some young bloods
they are serving butternut and spinach
so where to?
avalon cemetery
i will not bother the dead
their bones are resting
but their spirits . . .
their spirits live in these songs
gog’ sis phakama
a gogo by the name of sis phakama
is the first to be called
when someone in our family dies
she understands death
washes dead bodies
cries the most
gog’ sis phakama was never married
spent many days in prison for shoplifting
one day she wore inzila
as a disguise for pickpocketing
diagnosed with hiv in her mid-forties
it was like she got a dose of new life
at sixty-eight she wears short leather skirts
manicured nails and organic weaves
dancing away old age in six inch stilettos
gog’ sis phakama ends every family gathering
with a prayer
she prays for everyone
one by one
on christmas last year
she prayed for mpumi my nephew
she asked the good lord to protect him
when he crosses koma road
inkulu baba somadla ikoma road
amen
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