Displaced by RC Thaka

RC Thaka | May 28th, 2019 | poetry | No Comments


My neighbour’s baby girl was born into fire;
Her first memories are tied to her olfactory
system, she’s seventeen now, and the smell
of braaied meat still, to this day, conjures up feelings of loss and pain.
Like clay wrapped venison her father was encased in rubber then set alight.
Years later, so was her brother.

My neighbour’s baby girl was born in Salem;
She was baptised in Molotov cocktail flames
and confirmed on Ash Wednesday. The cross placed upon her head
were the very remains her mother stored in the urn on her bedside table.

My neighbour’s baby was born displaced
, and into misplaced hate

Poet Bio

RC Thaka is still writing, trying to improve the art.

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