A Poem
By Kgabo Mohlamme
wounds grow names
we lay under
the same shell, outside lies
“I forgive you”
A wound free from memory
is a family member.
I keep it’s name
resonating in my head
Peeling the scabs off as they try to
cover.
In my sleep
I hear it breath down my ear,
Searching for satisfaction
where Family bonds reside.
My moist wound is in love with
me.
I have my wound’s nose and ears,
It’s last name.
It’s hand-me-downs.
My wound.
The kind of wound you wear until it
becomes you.
I wade waist deep
in this thicker blood
I manage to not end my pain
for another day.
