Poems: Child and Mother
The two poems below were submitted by Ann Kithaka. She wrote: "Please accept two poems to commemorate the 16 days of activism against violence. They are dedicated to the
African Woman, to our mothers, sisters, and daughters, who continue to suffer even in this age of enlightment."
CHILD
Child,
You saw him last night;
Your enraged father;
Half-naked; drunk as a skunk.
Tottering into your room.
Poised on your bedroom doorway;
Baying for blood,
My blood.
You saw me too;
Cowering at the corner,
Holding into your bedpost;
My red night dress torn in the middle;
Bloody hair piece hanging askew my head;
Face puffy and swollen;
Cowering like the coward that I am,
Entreating him to spare me tonight!
I saw the fear in your eyes,
And that of your elder sister,
Who stared around her in a daze
Wishing the bad dream away.
But the macabre drama
Refused to go away.
She took refuge beneath
Your double Decker bed.
But you, my brave little solder,
You stood firm;
Your plaintive voice
Beseeching him to stop;
STOP DADDY! DON'T BEAT MUM!
He did not stop.
You saw him came after me
Like an enraged bull
Charging relentlessly.
You saw him grab my waist,
Jerking me away;
Pulling me this way and that way
Trying to ply me off the bedpost.
How i resisted, protesting loudly
Shouting at the maid
To come to my rescue--
But she slept on,
The impunent girl!
You saw him strike my
Tear streaked face,
And as I reeled in pain
He dragged me off,
Pulling me towards
Our bedroom,
To complete the battering.
I felt you leap off your bed,
And follow us,
Enraged like a tigress,
In defense of her young one.
I felt him brace himself,
As he steadied himself
For the mighty kick that
Knocked you flat into the cold floor.
Then I saw red!
The adrenaline pumped into my veins
My heart beat wildly,
I started gasping for air;
And in an instant
Reason fled away;
I kicked him hard,
And beat him hard
Crawling at his sweaty face,
Blow upon blow,
Shrieking like a woman possessed.
Did you see him crumble
Like David's Goliath,
As I knocked the wind out of him
Cutting his life-line off?
Child, hush!
Did you feel me
Gather you in my flail hands,
Whispering my fright into your ears,
Before we took flight into
The dark night?
Written August 2004
MOTHER WHY.
Exalted mother,
I shall extend you no reprieve,
For your blatant silence,
When they spilt my virginal blood
On alter of tribal misogamy.
Had your indomitable maternal instinct,
Taken a compulsory leave of absence.
Were you a manacled captive,
Your leap, thrust and heave
Insufficient to stop the sacrilege
So callously, wrought on me .
Show me the gag then,
That stopped you from condemning ,
Or even cursing this macabre rite.
Where was the spirited female fraternity?
Could their ingenuity not conjure
A conspiracy to cut only a small bit
Instead of this sadistic butchering
Of all that is soft and best in me,
Leaving my womanhood this gaping scar
This jagged relic of primitivism
That has so eroded my self-esteem
Leaving me vulnerable and insecure.
Could not the council of elders
Be appeased by a surface job,
Could they not mother?
August, 2004