-by Lucy Mwelu
Usually when I hear this phrase (the topic of course) I am watching a white film. Usually a child filled with trepidation by a notion of ‘something’ predatory taking a sojourn under their bed. The child makes a real fuss before giving in during which the caring parent will talk to them in a coaxing voice whilst rocking them back and forth, some even offer to let the child sleep with them in their rooms. In short, in these films, these kids end up feeling safe because to them, no monster is stronger than their heroes; their parents.
Continue reading “Monsters under the bed “
I sit at the front. It’s the front of a matatu or the cockpit if you will. It sounds fancy but y’all know it isn’t.
I sit in the small seat that isn’t actually a seat. It’s wedged in between the driver’s seat and the actual passenger seat and I know it’s going to be the worst 3 hours of my life. Continue reading “Simple, Happy and Okay”
She only loves in the middle of the night.
A light buzz in her brain from the wine she’s been sipping since, well, since it got dark. It’s that witchy hour, between 2 and 3 a.m. where it’s just you and the enveloping blanket of darkness. Continue reading “Not in the Sun”
So, Grown-ish is back for season 3. (Yes, I watch Grown-ish and a whole lot of other things but that’s another story)
So, Zoey is out here killing it, in her third year of college and she’s made some strides. Continue reading “Of Adulting and Growing up”
He could see it on the doctor’s face as he came in with the test results. There’s this look that they all have, it’s pretty distinct. If you spend enough time in a hospital, you’ll get to know it too. It’s usually pity mixed with am so sorry and a sprinkling of glad it’s not me. I know, it sounds cynical but that is the vibe he always got from that face, the face that was looking at him at this very moment. Continue reading “He had Cancer”
You should see me study.
I look like a serious ass human being. Pencil in hand, chewing on the end, my face holding this figurative expression Continue reading “It’s Exam Season…”
You really did a number on me…
And even though I want to hate you with all of my guts and wish you the worst that this world can give, I can’t.
I just can’t.
Maybe because I still love you.
I sit here and all I can think about is what you’re doing at this very moment
Whether you’re still working on your painting and your art
About what you’re wearing and whether you’re wearing that perfume that I bought you
And whether you still enjoy vanilla ice cream because I can’t stand it anymore; not if I’m not having it with you
Or whether you still wear my hoodies and smell in my scent, still chewing on the strings like you used to do
And if you still think about me the same way I think about you because I’m not over you
I just want to know whether you hurt as much as I do because maybe then I’ll know it’s okay not to hate you.
“Your wife was beautiful.”
That’s what they all say. That’s what they’re supposed to say. Or stuff like she was great or that she lived a good life or she was kind, all that.
That’s what I say, I mean what else are you supposed to say. Continue reading “The Grieving Widower”