One day I’ll pull you from our burning
house and whisper *uhibuk uhibuk*,
but today l unknot myself from your embrace
and recite to you poems about dying
inside a body that never should have been yours.
At night l write you long text messages
about how I feel- like a silver thread unravelling
from its spool whilst the moon lingers on.
I’m a sucker for obscure metaphors.
If you pull a rock from a river, the space left behind
becomes a soft space and fading instance
& takes less than a second to swallow. This means
that all absence is replaceable with matter
and other physical properties, even yours.
I’m fine with these scalding summers & headaches
& poems l never send to you even though
they always begin with “I love…”
You’re at the start of my every sentence.
Each memory of you is a wooden rung,
if we ever form a chasm l can always climb
back. I am sorry for this passive rage
which always uncoils itself from my mouth
to spit venom and carnage. History teems with men
who hated women they loved, it makes me sick.
Most of my prayers begin with “oh Lord
let me be unique.”
I have a phone app which seeks to fill the empty
hollows in my brain with flower names. Today’s
was genus Chelone. One day I’ll love you enough
to leave you alone. One day I’ll stop bursting
from within myself to arrange azaleas in your hair
and rearrange my bookshelf according to what makes you
laugh the most. You’d like that.
A fragment can learn to be whole on its own,
I learn this from watching icebergs roam and roam
without ever crying out “I love you
even when l don’t love you.” I do.
Farai Chaka is a human being (not a robot) and aspiring writer from Harare, Zimbabwe. He is an avid reader who also enjoys long walks and horror shows. He is currently in his first year at university.