Sorrow and anguish could be heard in her cries
You could see the pain, especially in her eyes
You see, dad had gone up to the sky blue
But his greedy relatives stuck to us like glue
Mom had been beaten down
By loss, grief, suspicious questions and frowns
There always was a wrangle when she tried to speak
Like the forty-year-old eagle, she became just as weak
Once full of life and flight
Only to have her talons plucked and beak bent without a fight
They made sure to subdue us during the set up for the burial
At age ten I could interpret their actions as cruel
Just two weeks after the funeral
Mom had to make a plea to her boss
Seeing that her competency at the hospital was on trial
Yet dad’s brothers tried to choose from his cars with a coin toss
Hiding the keys got me a beating, but it made sure they left with nothing
Two hours later mom came home very tired
But her fatigue faded upon seeing me battered
She was livid, no longer timid
My uncles came back a-knocking, but mom wasn’t cowering
Spine straight, she strode to the door with a purposeful gait
And I knew all that was left
Was to clear the ashes and watch a fiery rebirth.
Read A Worm is but a Butterfly – A Poem by Temani Nkalolang, Botswana
