Monday 
23 October 2017

— absolutely pitch dark out there at 6:38 a.m.
 
Good Morning All,

It’s been a while since I have subjected you to one of my poems (or whatever it is these word clusters are that arrive every couple of weeks.)

I wish I could tell you the penultimate stanza actually happened to me, but I can at least tell you it happened to a friend of mine.

Your Mother’s Junk and Mine
(On the Occasion of Moving House)
C. R. Magwaza

Here’s a cigar box full of Red Sox ticket stubs
Going back to Teddy Ballgame’s time,
Each neatly stapled to a 3 X 5 index card
Of a cryptic game summary in my dad’s hand.

Here’s a ruby and diamond butterfly pin
I got my mom one Christmas, which she wore
For years on her best baking apron, which is
Why only one diamond and two rubies are left.

Here’s the wind-up, dime-store alarm clock
That used to sit on the night table between
Your uncle’s and my bed in the attic;
I don’t know where the hour hand got to.

Here’s the Valentine the first girl I ever kissed
Sent me before I’d kissed her, Roses are red,
Violets are blue, if you don’t stop bugging
The heck out of me, I don’t know what I shall do.

Here’s my Ella in Hollywood album from 1961,
Ella gets stuck half way through Take the A Train,
Because that’s the exact moment I kicked the needle,
Same girl, your mom, while losing our virginities.

Of your mother’s hundreds of elephants, wooden,
Ceramic, glass, here’s my favorite, carved in ebony,
Two little ones between her legs, which we got
In Durban the same afternoon she bought this green hat.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron

P.S. Two Holly snaps: