I.
Her laughter rises from the womb of the earth
Like a dust devil.
Hers is laughter honed in perennial goodbyes.
Hers is laughter that rises from the sands
Of desert(ed) landscapes. Hers is a voice that knows
Days split into pieces like broken calabashes.
In the sea of these historical
Dis-
Continuations,
The sea(water) up to our necks,
She laughs as though all that has been lost
Has been preserved all along,
Free and accessible as air.
II.
To the Malians
With joy,
I go. To the Malians
with joy,
I return,
To the Malians.
III.
Joy is all I remember,
When you held my hand long,
And tender, like a man
Calming an orphaned fawn.
It was the way you regarded me;
I felt hefty, and present.
You reminded me of my people
From the old country,
Standing with your back to the glow of sunset,
Tall and calm,
Dark and beautiful,
Teeth white as the sheep
In Solomon’s Song.
IV.
I can finally see them,
The pearls in the rain
Of Sangaré laughter,
Like the gold-colored orbs in
And Then We Saw the Daughter
of the Minotaur!
Tjizembua Tjikuzu is an essayist and poet. He graduated from the Rutgers-Camden MFA in Creative Writing program in 2021. He has poetry and essays published and forthcoming in Doek! Literary Magazine, Obsidian, Rigorous Magazine, Columbia: Journal of Literature and Art Consequence Forum, The Elevation Review, Barely South Review, Santa Fe Literary Review’and others.
