I am the Pretzel
A
Con/tor/tion/ist
My veins in a seige, do not welcome the saviour
The neeeedle shrills for a line
They dance. The dance of the nerves
Swarming……;
circling cheeks and shoulders and face
How they stamppppeeed
with
the
pressure of mice feet alight with alacrity
A shoal of fire’lit fish
I try to become small enough to insert myself back into that crevice
No. I don’t.
My body has become BULBous
We do grow
even when ensnared by immobility
from
different places
sprouting roots and shoots
from
our eyes and ears and heads.
Read – Beacon of Honesty – A Poem by Maapile Adelina Moliepe, Lesotho
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