After Wairimu Kagichu
I leave my novice nature as ashes
& my late grandmother’s voice sings to me,
‘Utamerithitie ndatigaga kuhaada’*
for her memory has become nothing more than
a mere smoke and mirror to my writing about–
a city & it’s fecklessness.
She wants me to cease being a flower’s softest bud,
go out there & meet my reckoning.
But the flaw of my ilk is the derangement–
of not knowing the sparking of an apt procession of events,
or when to ignore the parallels.
In this place I have embraced being a misfit,
for hope at times is taken — a poison that kills one slowly.
– Only in a memory of a voice am I at home.
*A famous Kikuyu saying that translates – if you haven’t achieved in life, continue working.