Memory bites the tongue

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.