My father was the first man to be buried in our village. His death coincided with my birth and my mother’s sadness. The other villagers knew this, so they stretched my name from Kwena to Ke-wena when they spoke to me, as if saying ‘It is you who has caused our lives to be this way.’
I certainly have my Naane le Moya faves, one of them being Sibongile Fisher, who has been regular here. From interview to residency, never mincing her words and serving top quality stories always. Narratives that hold your hand as you look deeply within yourself or your surroundings.
Part I: The Pilgrim
Burdened by this ghostly cargo,
The carnal leakage too far gone.
Lucid dreams swindle my rest,
A timely vent for a smothered soul on a prodigal quest.
I self-mutilate like a vandal,
A nagging summoning to let myself go.
Delay my demise another day,
To feign control over mortality.
I met Nkateko through my Facebook timeline. She was being tagged in pictures, mentioned in statuses and being called my best by poet, Busisiwe Mahlangu. We finally made it to the coveted stage, being Facebook friends. And I witnessed the poet’s magic on my own time line, not through some passive magic transmitter or whatever.
The Dino and the Doll – Kim Peter Kovac
in the courtyard of lost toys,
a blue stuffed dinosaur
stands on a birdcage nailed
to a wall, just over a shelf,
the resting place for a doll
with red hair, raggedy clothes
and a broken neck, staring
sightlessly to her right.