A Poem
By Nkateko Masinga
Let my holy oil anoint your head.
I am your call to worship.
Sistine is too intricate,
Pantheon too far.
Come pray here —
in tongues.
Open me up like you do cathedrals.
My mouth is only for moaning
but if I wanted to speak,
it would be to direct you:
Stroll through Pisa,
Tower over me.
I lean over.
Welcome
Home.
