We screamed to be heard, marched to express our rage. To bleed with our fallen sisters, for I am her, and she is me. We all lived each other’s suffering.

The dust has settled now, quiet returned.
Yet I still can’t breath. I am still not safe.

I cry silently for my country. I no longer connect to her. My love and pride is only filled with disappointment. She has left me sad, and empty and afraid.

My son asked me, “Why do you refer to South Africa as a she?” I look at him dumbstruck, he continues, “Perhaps SHE has always been a HE!”

This realization is hard to swallow.
This... scares me half to death.

i know you
said you had no interest in visiting
europe but last night i had a
dream that you met me in
ireland.
i have never been and neither have
you but we rode in an old car to the
cliffs.
sheet sky tangerine
orange fire in the
ocean water burns just like my inner
thighs burn right
now.
you are laughing and you kiss
me in front of this brilliant
painting this brilliant firey
explosion it is
God and it is
summer. i wake
up and i am in the rain
on the street
corner where you picked me
up in your new car the last time i saw
you in december.
the new year is
tomorrow and you are in
boston. it rains and
i am alone
on the street in
december.

last night in the clay
burn of the candlesticks i
met a girl with blue
hair.
she asked me as the room
filled with sleepy smoke if i
would ever want you to read my
story of us
she was cloaked in sky
blue and as we filled with
fog all i could think was that i
know you just moved
house and you didn’t
tell me