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Marilyn Aug 2014
Red
The blood shed during apartheid
Voices drowned by tears
        of mothers missing sons
        daughters growing up while Dad's in prison
        and people displaced by District 6.
Museums erected in their memory
"Always Forward, Never Forget"

Blue
The open sky meets the water
As the Dutch sail into the bay
A trading-stop-turned-city
For weary travelers to call home.
The streets now bear their names
And people speak their language,
Pushing native and Western cultures together
As one.

Green
The land stretches over mountaintops
The city sparkles on the water
Narrow sidewalks and busy streets
covered with "hooting" cars on the wrong side of the road.
The market with tents and bargains
The tropical trees in the park nearby,
inviting passerbys to explore.

Black and White
For the people
Once separated, now trying to unite
        as a family.
The colors of diversity
Speaking native tongues
Cooking and serving up traditions,
But still haunted by the past.

Yellow
For the gold
That was found in Joburg, and
That thrives on the streets of Cape Town
Sculptures, statues, beat of the drum
Colorful buildings
Make this city its own.

The Y
This is the Rainbow Nation
Whites, Blacks, and everything in between
Coming together as one
Waving the South African flag
And looking towards the future.
I wrote this as part of a group project while in South Africa on a study abroad.
Felicia C Jul 2014
The museum feels like heaven, feels like I could walk into the corner Pollack and the indiscriminate Monet, but there’s the characterization of Thomas Kane and you hate Mondays security guard.

The man with a beard followed me all the way from the Impressionist room to the modern films and when he finally made me lift my eyes from the canvas, his were turquoise and shook me awake.

I kept running up the stairs because I finally found out where they keep the hidden garden with the spiraled copper fountain and I laughed when I found my reflection in the Italian enamel.

You fell asleep with your head on my knees.
The weight of your skull was alarmingly heavy, so I played with your hair until you woke up. The moment of recognition on your face was so human I wanted to cry.

You scrunch up your eyebrows and touch your glasses trying to remember and a tiny echo of a perfect smile plays on your lips. You kiss me exactly and hum along.

You carried a contraband white umbrella into the gallery so we hid it under a desk. Your helmet was still blank so I gave you some concept art. Your languid loss of service as a multitude of goodbyes allow me to kiss your forehead right as your thoughts hit the pillow.


So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand why you tuck me into a warmer blanket before you leave for work in the morning with your heavy boots and your thermos and let me sleep while you shower and kiss me awake for breakfast with a cup of coffee in hand.
September 2013

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