Songs of Anisha
“Stagnation, Evening,”
by Abigail George
The moon’s currency
is our compensation.
A morning filled with
dreams and goals follows. The
growth of every leaf
on a branch takes place
in silence. Every cry
speaks to the call of the
heart and stagnation
comes with the respect
between bone and flesh,
invasion and progress,
driftwood and the ocean-sea.
The cattle in the fields,
the surf of the ocean-river of
an African dream. Make
a ball with your hands.
Clench your fist and you
will feel something secretive
break inside of you.
Cool, quiet fingertips
filled with the thrill of
envy. Even memories
have human voices. In
the heat of the day I see
my mother’s face in every
horizon. She is my sun, my dahlia.
The heat of the day finds
itself in the pudding and
roast chicken made by ‘my
dahlia’. It reminds me
of childhood crumbs on
the Sunday table. My hands
sticky from the caramel
sauce. My mouth and breath
warm with syrup and the appendix of
baked apples. Instalments
of glaring and competition
with my younger siblings.
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