The Spirit of U'gogo
My grandmother’s life
Is the poetic experience
From which I derive
My poetic journey
My mother was 21 years old
When she fell pregnant with me
And upon realizing she was scared
Worried about her ability
To provide for me
My grandmother
Instructed my mother
To leave me in her care
The deal was
My mother could go find work
And send money home
So for the first nine years
Of my life,
My grandmother
Played the role of mother
My grandmother’s life
Is the poetic experience
From which I derive
My poetic journey
Being raised by u’ma
Was like falling in love
With morning dew
And it’s love for kissing grass
Love
Smelt like scones and tea
Peanut butter morning porridge
And spring
was a sweet melody
A ride on her back
To pre-school
Along the way
I’d listen to u’gogo hum
Gospel hymns
In the same angelic breath and tones
She used to
Greet strangers
And friends alike
The journey
Always had me in awe
Crossing train tracks
Was an exhilarating experience
My grandmother would stop
Intensely study the railway
For sounds or signs
Of vibration
**insert Zulu***
This, she would say
Will tell me whether or not
A train in nearby
My grandmother’s life
Is the poetic experience
From which I derive
My poetic journey
IsiZulu
Is the language
Of my grandmother’s tongue
U’gogo u’mama wom’zulu
IsiZulu
My tongue’s first love
A dance and evidence
that my grandmother
Poured parts of herself into me
Turned my heart
Into an orchestra
Conducted solely by her
IsiZulu
A culture ingrained in my being
Taught me how
To stand up when
Elders need a place to sit
To greet way before I am greeted
To wear my shoes in a hurry
When there is a friend in need
IsiZulu
Taught me how to harness my tongue
Forsake the need
To use English as a determinant
For intelligence
Honey,
My grandmother
Taught me
How to use language
As a bridge into the great unknown
My grandmother’s life
Is the poetic experience
From which I derive
My poetic journey
U’gogo would beat not spank me
And it was poetic
To see wet dish clothes
Become
Instruments for discipline
My occasional rude talk and mean stares
Were guided with oven hot slaps
A constant reminder
That sometimes
Misguided is not an appropriate form of behavior
My mind recalls it as Love.
Not abuse.
Determined to raise me well
My grandmother never holds back
On an opportunity to rise to the occasion
To fight for my greatest good
U’gogo calls me her daughter
Prays for me
Cries for me
And counts me
As her greatest blessing
Lately when I call home
I am told
She suffers
Aunts tell me
The doctors said
We are to shield her from negative news
As this aggravates her mild dementia
She still sounds like herself
She still sounds like home
Like morning dew
And it’s love for kissing grass
It’s still her
With the angel breath and tones
Embracing gospel hymns
As her memory whispers good night
My grandmother’s life
Is the poetic experience
From which I derive
My poetic journey