Not The Only Ones
Tall and strong
beautiful and young
her smile hides the pain she knows
the wrath of a drunken husband
the death of her small daughter
Now she trades backbreaking labor for a roof and some ugali.
She’s not the only one.
Ten years old
one of thirteen children
his intense eyes reveal his curiosity
he wants to learn
he wants to know
he wants to grow
He wants a future.
He’s not the only one.
Tears on his sleeves
soil as his shoes
calloused hands
are part of his work
driving donkeys
is a tiresome task
between dawn and dusk
He’s seen so much.
He’s not the only one.
Large brown baskets
adorn their backs.
breeze and birds
the brushing and snapping of leaves
their music for today
this week this month
on and on they pluck tea
this tedious task they know so well
They have other dreams for their children.
They’re not the only ones.
The Seconds In Between
I leaned against a banana tree collecting my thoughts.
I saw several pairs of eyes watching me.
I looked at them, their lips spread wide, their hands raised in greeting.
“Chumindet!”
A yellow sack falls to the ground.
“Muzungu!”
A little green skirt swishes against the tea plants.
“Karibu!” they call.
I wave. They giggle.
Six little bare feet stamp their signatures in the soil.
Their laughter fades away on the breeze.
I’m left knowing I’m never alone.
I’m always being watched.
I must be an example.
I have no other choice.
Collecting
Collecting is something most people do.
Some collect coins.
Others collect pencils.
Some collect books.
Others collect stamps.
As for me, I’m collecting words and memories.
Beautifully written, Aprill! You indeed, like the last line of your last poem states, are collecting words and memories.
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