going out on a limb...

So I haven’t written a poem in years. It had its place in my artistic whatever in high school, but never really survived after that. However, I’ll go to a Poetry Slam and absolutely marvel at what people can do with words and I love reading poetry. Perhaps in some place in my mind I associate poetry with hipster-coffee shops, dreads, and snapping your fingers; things I have scoffed at before. But today I kept getting these specific images in my mind of what Malawi is to me, and started writing them down. I guess you would call the following a poem (why do I feel pretentious saying that? Because it’s not my ‘normal’ mode of artistic expression? Because I’m sharing it with people?). Who knows. Either way, I hope you enjoy it. And please, don’t snap at the end (unless Lil’ Jon tells you to, duh). 

legs littered with scars

barely connect with the tiny feet

that push rusty pedals down

the streets littered with trash

“whites” of the eyes that are really brown

stare at the SUVs full of hopefuls

who will never actually know what is like

to be “brown” in the eyes of whites

waiting in long lines at the bank

in order to get just enough kwacha

to go to the market that lies

on the banks that line the river

flies licking open wounds

don’t seem to phase the babies

who wear hand-me downs of

baggy pants with open flies

the edges of impossible clouds

set starkly against the bluest blue

again contrast with the reddest earth

that lies on the edge of possibility

the smell of something burning

is a pleasant distraction

from the constant feeling of

the burning sun on my smelly skin

strong women with their babies on their backs

walking

walking

walking

to get home to weak men

who keep babies in the back of their minds

phone credit that always runs out

is no problem for me

when im in a cornfield at dusk

running with no phone

long skirts and baskets on heads

balancing far more than meets the eye

this is the common factor

as I dive headlong into

Malawi.