If poetry is a woman
then I. am. a lesbian.

Fully fledged.
Forget the closet.

Oh, I'd seen her around the neighbourhood
Once, twice or maybe three times
but then came June 2002
and boom
she had me swooned.
Un-tongue-tied
Zombified
Deliriously happy-fied.


Now how does she smell?
How does poetry smell???

       egyptian musk
       fried plantain
       mangoes
       and soil - freshly beaten by the rain


Everyday she finger-feeds me A to Zee
in a multitude of crazy combinations,
wrapping her legs around my imagination
taking me up,
up,
up on a creative high
ooh, ooh, ooh
I sigh


Then
Naked
Lyrically sated
Poetry takes me by the hand
to the mirror in the bathroom

Standing behind me,
her chin softly grazing my shoulder,
she smiles at my reflection
and begins to chant
She begins to chant oriki
African praise songs
that soothe me
as my reflection shivers
between hope and fear

Smiling at my reflection,
chanting African praise songs,
she tells me my breasts
are droopily beautiful,
that my stretchmarks
are a work of art,
that the world is mine to explore
and to never forget….
I am an ancestor - in the making

Pep talk over
We then take turns
striking Page-3-Girl poses in the mirror,
miming into our afro combs
and doing the running man!


If poetry is a woman??
No, she IS a woman
My woman
My shadow
My Siamese twin
Voluntarily joined at the hip with a pen

Yeah - she's my woman
My first thought
My first love

for each time I write
I'm only trying to describe
the taste of her lips
when we kiss

the taste of her lips
when we kiss...

the taste    of her lips
when we kiss.


© ebele.