By Tsitsi Jaji
When last in dooryards jacarandas bloomed.
The heart is in thanks to the cat.
Kutenda kwakitsi kuri mumwoyo.
Only in the privacy
of its own box.
“Above all, strive for a room of your own,”
said Mr. Jabavu. Or a library reading room.
Gloved hands are rare,
as are needles. However
when funds are released
the RNs will be paid.
Those one hundred lonely years.
Those days of loverly, loverly.
I facebook you. You handcushion me.
I kneejab you. You bottompoke me.
In the time of loverly loverly
all I wished for were gloves.
Where is the dentist?
Where is uncle engineer?
Where is blind auntie?
Wet noodles sound love(r)ly. These days
tinodya macaroni without complaint.
I sent you a Freezit on Facebook. Do you miss me?
I sent you the cherry plum Sparletta.
These one hundred lost years. We miss.
There’s no pack of broken Lobels Biscuits on Facebook yet.
Do you miss me? Next Christmas, for sure, I will come.
Honestly, we are just coping up.
It is better if you send cash.
Dispatch: Scarce work needles.