grace.

I’m a writer, but I never write poetry – ever. I don’t enjoy reading it, I hated studying it in High School and I don’t really understand it, it’s conventions, the types, the spoken and unspoken rules. Iambic Pentameter, WHAT ARE YOU. However, I took a writing class last semester and we had the option of writing poetry or prose – with a tiny word count, and being the wordiest person I know, I opted for poetry. The class was about stretching our boundaries as masters of the written word, and for me – poetry was galaxies away. Besides, my chosen topic – HIV – with all its complications, seemed to be easier to express without the convention of sentence structure, and the limitations of an actual plot. And so, world, here is my poem about HIV. It doesn’t make much sense to even me, so good luck with that. I’m not particularly proud of it, but there’s a little something about it that I like. And it got an HD, so apparently it at least passes as a poem. I'm nervous about sharing this one with you. Oh well, here goes!

GRACE

love

is not contained within a condom

even if they were

available

which they’re not and

I’m not

I’m married.

wed.

wedding; it was

beautiful,

a past life – pre the

sentence.

it’s the expression of            

            trust and            

            freedom

it’s love

and in this dangerous world

            this waring world

            and mining

love is the comfort

            where life is

expendable.

and besides,

            it’s apples and

            oranges

it’s witchcraft and spit and human

            juices

it’s aunts and brothers and

friends,

all covered in

lesions

and campaign posters

and bored

meetings

of the distant and the            

            rich

thick blood, which within

            ten days

contains 100 million copies in one

            drop

in the ocean. The problem?

sure; but hell – one of many.

A complete misunderstanding

            of the

embededness of the 95%

the still oppressed            

            the

“biocommodification”

of people, now the cheapness

            of the other

in the hand of

            the

coloniser.

with the term

of

economic rationalisation

re:

human tears and faeces.

A six foot deep decision.

For little babies

who at breast

            receive a little

            grim

news from the reaper

which within fields un-planted

remain

barren, as grubby barefoot

children

            bite the heels of            

tired

mothers mothers.

A completely void labouring generation.

            Fearless – apparently,

as they’re used to it and

            waiting, with

expectance, when

            really it’s an

accumulation of

            never having heard of

            ibuprofen

            and

tribal sex with chimpanzees?

            or maybe merely,

the filthy filth;

            the habits of those

men on men with the

            needles in

their arms,

a cesspool of infection,

            of disease.

            Lympho

sites of violence and

            rape and

the bandaging of wounds

            by kids

in giant armies of

            terrors which take

second place

            behind the

beauty queens; and the lot of them

under-exaggerated by

desperate

heads of state in an

            attempt to

generate some form of good

            relations as the

basis to a rudimentary

            monetary foundation

and yet; over exaggerated

by the others

            who they, themselves come in all

coats and gloves and

sanitizer

to raise the cause and

bring ten to the

pockets

of the plenty.

- they call it Afropessimism;

such pessimism,

that which lays dormant

for decades –

sometimes

rendering it almost

            impossible

to trace, and yet with plenty of

time. time. time.

for reproduction in

            the

quietest places.

            In the sex we have and

            drugs we

use.

and abuse, but sometimes

long hours and roads

and hungry bellies are

            the buyers and the bringers

and the face –

not of the voiceless

            but the maimed?

victims,

irresponsible,

irrational,

poor and clueless.

human immuno

deficient,

in understanding

and the

simple gift

of

Grace.