bone

by Yrsa Daley-Ward

My thoughts about you are frightening but precise. I can see the house on the hill where we grow our own vegetables out back and drink warm wine out of jam jars and sing songs in the kitchen until the sun comes up wena you make me feel like myself again. Myself before I had any solid reasons to be anything else. Last night you gave me space to dream bigger than the single bed. You laughed in your sleep and I cried in mine and this afternoon we might be tired because the sun is fierce today and so much happened between midnight and now but Bhabha you are terror and brilliance so I am the kind of woman who is already teaching my body to miss yours without craving. I am the type of woman who is already teaching my heart to miss yours without failing and I am quite sure that you will find this unnecessary but I am already searching for a place to run to and hide when you say, Uthando lwami. I’m ready. Are you? You know that I would gladly drive with you to the other side of the world with only the clothes I am wearing and the loose change and empty peanut shells in my purse kodwa every time you leave the room I worry and think that perhaps I have imagined you and maybe you have imagined me.