Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tsitsi Jaji

PRÉAMBULE

PRÉAMBULE

PRÉAMBULE

These have been the days
I wished to break like a stick
across my own knees, to splinter the
joy that took me. Because it was not my own.
 
Listen, listen!
 
One time, there was rain that came after we prayed. We had learned thirst’s fervour swilling mouthfuls of sand. We danced a rain dance, and then the rainfall came. It fell back to the earth.
Another time, I fingered a heart from my own herd, a cattle globe whose valves leaked into my palm. In the lines of criss-crossed blood I read a mantra that drowned out the nethermothers’ tantrums.
 
To those who believe a flood is a spiritual thing,
preceded by tonguèd winds: Be ashamed.
It comes creeping up on you like
a snare . . . lightly, lightly
Loosening the soil’s death rattle. And then you are washed away
 
In the rain’s rush.
 
Listen. Listen.
Close

PRÉAMBULE

These have been the days
I wished to break like a stick
across my own knees, to splinter the
joy that took me. Because it was not my own.
 
Listen, listen!
 
One time, there was rain that came after we prayed. We had learned thirst’s fervour swilling mouthfuls of sand. We danced a rain dance, and then the rainfall came. It fell back to the earth.
Another time, I fingered a heart from my own herd, a cattle globe whose valves leaked into my palm. In the lines of criss-crossed blood I read a mantra that drowned out the nethermothers’ tantrums.
 
To those who believe a flood is a spiritual thing,
preceded by tonguèd winds: Be ashamed.
It comes creeping up on you like
a snare . . . lightly, lightly
Loosening the soil’s death rattle. And then you are washed away
 
In the rain’s rush.
 
Listen. Listen.

PRÉAMBULE

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère