the time it takes
for a tear to fall
rock pools hold
a piece of the sky
In this place of double standards and no
welfare; life as a single mother is a precarious
dance on the blade of a double-edged sword.
Yet, when Aggie walks the
roads of Sinon her back is
straight her head held high.
She dreams of a future in the eyes of
her 4 year old son, Nelson Mandela.
His name-sake, her hope.
For him her feet do not hover over
paths inclined to shift without notice, her gaze
does not drop to the critic’s stare.
Today we arrive at Aggie’s as
the last images of dusk bleed into
the inkiness of a starless night.
Her accomplished smile and the glow
of a kerosene lamp unveils her
newly built home, her palace.
A two roomed hut; dirt floors,
no windows, the only air circulating
through the gap between rafter and roof.
Her kitchen a camp stove
assembled on the floor between
lounge chairs and a secondhand bed.
As we devour the delights of mutton pilaw and
coconut rice; we know this moment has less to
do with the house, the company the meal;
this is the moment where we share
the first tastes of her