More poems will be
displayed here in the
Spring

NOW I AM EIGHT
(For Richard and Noella Katembo)

My father came home
and the men came too,
to rob him.
But there was no money
so he died there
in front of me
and my sister.
My mother was not home.
She had given birth
the day before.
I was five then.
Now I’m eight.
I have told my mother
I am ready to put
flowers on the grave.
She says “no” it will make
me the next to die.
But I know
there are many ways
to die in Africa.

Goma, DR Congo