Hole in My Heart – Lewis Wamwanda
When I was growing up
Every dawn I’d wake up
And I’d throw stones at a woman
Who was always at our gate.
Papa never allowed me to get close
And each time I saw her
I would pour insults at her;
She was dirty, and stank.
I would offer rotten food to her
And always laughed at her wrinkled face
She was black and ugly
Limped when we threw garbage at her.
She never talked, and
I’d get happy seeing her rained on
Her dirty clothes were torn;
The sight of her was disgusting.
As I write this piece
There’s a hole in my heart
For she died last year; of pneumonia
And the eulogy named her my mother
