The Moment in the Middle

There’s a photograph of me and my mother on my bedside table.

Framed in silver with margins emphasising the picture in the middle,

The moment in the middle.

She’s on one knee, with an arm around me,

A purple and blue bubu dances with the wind around her.

I’m barely containing my glee at having my picture taken,

My hands are brought near my face, trying to hide the laughter.

A pink skirt gleams like a jewel in light sepia.

There’s unheard laughter reverberating in this moment.

My mother’s from trying to get me to smile for the camera,

Mine from trying to keep my elation held in.

She points at the camera,

‘Ooo chere, wait now, baby, lekwa, look!

Her persuasive voice sprinkled with amusement whispers at my ear,

The sun smiles lazily down on us.

The corners of the House in Pot-a-kot peek through the edges of the moment,

Imposing black bars reach for the heavens behind us.

A man saunters in through the gate behind.

The fields of tall grass to the east are unseen,

The bustle of the roads to the west almost imagined.

Each time I look at this photo, I relive this moment.

The carefreeness wafts from the moment

The smiles playing on our lips are infectious

Each time I look,

Each time I look at the photograph on my bedside table.

–  C






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