Changamire
There were things familiar, brisk,
nonchalant conversations, neon fabrics
of this place that once was home.
He used to sit under the bougainvillea
behind my mother’s kitchen for his afternoon tea,
suit and tie clad knitting earthly stories of when he was a boy
and I not yet born. Chitoto was the famous one
who thought himself a great fighter, he would begin
Among other anecdotes to whoever cared to listen
Knobkerrie resting on his lap taking the space I
should have sat. I have returned home,
The bougainvillea is gone
It’s pink petals unfolding invasive memory
Familiar words roll off my tongue smoothly now
No one will ever lisp-mimic me like he used to
Meaning departs, fails to connect.
Shimmering blue, yellow ties spin before my eyes, yet
I don’t remember how the tobacco from his pipe smelt;
my grandfather...he loved his afternoon tea that is all I remember
Batsirai Chigama
Batsirai Chigama is an erudite Zimbabwean poetess. Her poems have been commanding audience all over African continent.
