One Poem

Gloria Mwaniga

The Gossip of Sparrows

The Nashville farmer’s market

whispers to your mind

that this is not

home.

It rips the bandage

wrapped around remembrance.

Reveals red flesh. Causes things

left behind to rush and meet you.

Makes you long for women

in Lumakanda market where old dogs

roam freely and fat flies

dance with bellies up in the air.

Market women who release

laughter from tummies

like Western Union ATMs.

Who add extra onions, handfuls

of peas to your bag.

Who make music

of mirth. Unspool songs

from parched throats like petitions

for the rain ripening

in the sky to wait.

Whose eyes catch yours,

smile, I-see-you-sis —

Sistership. Sailing across the Atlantic

in defiance. Against merciless suns that scald

backs, test patience, kill crops in fields.

In the places between these women’s

smiles, you are a girl

again. Loved by a million mothers.

Laughing at the gossip

of sparrows perched on purple jacarandas.

Pouring yourself in the crevices

between your mothers’ laughter.

No African sun reddens tomatoes

at the Nashville farmer’s market.

No birdsong fills the air.

Just humming fridges, cool

civility, cold coffee, silences. Avoidance —

eye contact you hope will not turn

you to stone.

Cover image: Thorn Tree, Namib Desert, via Wikimedia Commons