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You won’t remember but the women

Hollowed out the starved moons

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Out of the bleed-through of the

Girl in the dream.

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You are her, and when you are her,

Your skin is blind,

And the buried humans inside you wake,

Illuminating the days of harvest.

There is a harvest of the dream of scars,

Where your mother ends all of her-selves

With sleep and haunting trees.

She is wrapping and unwrapping the drought years,

Seeking the hours when light was light,

And everyone’s moon was full and a garden.

You are heaving peculiar seeds of numbness.

And there is a hurricane waiting to swallow the storm,

But which God did you dream of?

You are ruined,

But there is unfurling,

And the loss of memory is light too.

Don’t you know, the sun didn’t forget you in all this sojourn?

 

 

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Post image by Mirjana Veljovic via flickr.

About the Author:

Gaamangwe-Mogami-PhotoGaamangwe Joy Mogami is a poet, playwright and screenwriter from Botswana. Her poetry has been published in Kalahari Review, African Writer, Afridiaspora and Poetry Potion. She is the founder and managing editor of an interview magazine, Africa in Dialogue.