I exercise this muscle in my chest
with bad love, fake affection.
Run it through a gamut of men, women
real or not.
willing or not.
My vulva weeps, at the thought of you
your pistachio pussy, pried open —
rosey, tinged olive, rich.
Our bones roll over each other;
click, clap applause.
Thick-necked men break my heart,
bend my shoulders
for karmic revenge.
I wake up alone,
crowd of spectres
streaming out the hot kettle.
The sink cradles
an unknown razor
and I sing of it without words.
Post image is a remixed version of a photograph by Boris Thaser via Flickr.
About the Author:
Efemia Chela was born in Zambia in 1991, but grew up all over the world. She studied at Rhodes University, South Africa and Institut D’Etudes Politiques in Aix-En-Provence, France. When she grows up she would like to be a better writer and literary translator. She enjoys eating pizza, playing croquet and watching black and white films. Her first published story, ‘Chicken’ was nominated for The 2014 Caine Prize For African Writing. Efemia’s subsequent stories and poems have been published in places like Jalada, Short.Sharp.Stories: Adults Only, Prufrock and PEN Passages: Africa. She continues to write whenever she can find a moment on the train and a working pen.