Okimbaa

Two boys, black of skin and cheeks chafed,

and a soccer ball half deflated.

On the road of mud and ridges

and puddles parasite-filled,

bordered by green and fibrous forest,

They play.

The knowing of death is forgotten.

 

Sister comes, tongue clicking--

that is what the girls do in Kisangani,

she told me.

Okimbaa, it is time to come home.

Her speech is sharp, but her eyes dry and bloodshot

from her work: leaving at night

for the city,

coming  home in the morning with money.

Come on, Okimbaa. It's suppertime.

 

The ball rolls slowly, oddly,

stop in a dip.

Looking, the other boy tips his head at me,

pivoting it on his skinny neck.

It's alright. We can play tomorrow.

Not knowing if--

if anything.

 

Home

is between two canarium trees

with dry bark and ropes for climing to get nuts.

Made by Daddy's hands

our house is mud

tipsily round with thatch roof

and a door painted blue.

No beds, but blankets with roaches

over smooth hard dirt. A hole in the corner

where a snake lived but I killed it

to make Daddy proud.

 

Maman bent over

scraping away at food over fire.

Her cheeks ahve no flesh.

Skin tight the stretched over

the horrible shape of her skull.

Is it rice again?

She does not move, still stirring

piteously hunched.

I know it is rice because she does not answer.

 

Hard for me--

Don't look at her skinny arms,

ankles like sticks,

elbows and knees and odd greyish colour and chest sunken

under her linen dress.

 

She says her Rosary twice a day now.

          Life is stretched.

 

The rice is burnt and over-spiced

burning our knobby hands

grimy and blistered.

Food too hot to go down throat

scalds but hungry enough.

Is Daddy coming home tonight?

Maman's face tight enough

goes tighter,

her eyes are hard.

Voice low and wretched,

I don't know.

Don't ask about Daddy.

 

She is worried about

Boko.

My little brother,

with his one goopy eye

and his body twisted

from a sickness--

He doesn't eat anymore, it doesn't

stay in his stomach.

 

He tries to follow me,

stumbling upon his twisted

black legs and

clubbed feet

and finally  his legs collapse under his body.

He says

Okimbaa? Carry me? Please?

 

I carry him

on my shoulders, feeling his

chalky dry skin, chafing, against my own.

He tries to curl his terrible arms around my neck,

not knowing why it is so hard.

 

I try not to let Maman see

that I know Boko will die.

 

Death comes I know

but

every time is just as horrible.

 

Reviews

[jessfoundwonder]

Wow. This was so incredibly amazing. I love you for not writing about some boring generic thing like most people do. Perfect descriptions, enough to picture everything clearly, but you left a good amount open for imaginations. Yes! finally there's someone worth reading on this site.

[Picture of Poetry]

Wow, this was so...gosh I can't think of a word to discribe it. This was amazing! No, this was brilliant! The dicription was insane and perfect! I was hooked starting with the first line of the poem. This is seriosly one of the greatest poems I've read in a long time. It has great flow, and detail and of couse great discription. I absolutly love this piece! Brilliant poem. :)

[Ophelia]

I really enjoyed this poem. The way you describe everything is so precise it really creates a whole setting to it.

[Iota]

Umm, well first let me say that the descriptions, and use of words in this one is just off the charts. Is this real? Did you experience this or is it from your mind? It is that good I can't tell if it is fact or fiction. Awesome write this had me lost in another world where I did not want to live but still enjoyed the ride. Excellent write.

[Looouise]

That was amazing.
You captured that life very well; the descriptions painted a picture. I could see it all and feel it all.
Nice job.

[Chelsea.]

Wow.
This is truely amazing. I've never read anything like it. You do great at painting a picture in the readers head with your word choice and details. Sad, but good.

[no sun]

Are you a journalist? This is brilliant! So many layers that unfold so well. Very sad piece. Truly amazing.

[Aekmy]

This shows all too well the horrible life children live in third world countries. I am blessed everyday for the luxuries I have. Great write. It holds truth and hope for the little children of the world.
Mary
God Bless

[cest la vie]

This is a wonderful piece. It reads smooth like a story and has so many rich details. I felt like a voyeur in this childs life.
The daily pain and struggles of the children of our planet are at times utterly unbearable to witness. This truly is a wonderful piece and I thank you for sharing. My friend Bono would approve as well.