Poetry

The Brother Moves On

by Sihle Ntuli

Do you remember
                       when we were younger,
                    ugogo gathering pawpaw from her garden,

                    sitting patiently     waiting
                    for us to finish     indulging         in the fruit,

                    knowing full well   
                                                that her grandsons   
                    would only want more,

                   and with the very last one,        
                              she plunged   the knife  deep inside  
                              the pawpaw      cutting it 
                              in two,

The way she sat close by       
                             and watched  us 
                               tasting        rich textures  
                             of a tropical delicacy,

                   and once we had our fill     she imparted wisdom    
                                       on the necessity to share  
                   with one another,
Reminding us,
                   that when we entered       this world       
                             we entered it    together  as twins
                  amawele
                                     and that twins     
                                  was how God had intended it to be
             that you and I    were born this way    for a reason.

Lest we forget
               her lesson in the garden

              much later in life,               I would learn 
              that our late grandmother             decided on our names      
              in much the same way,

              after    you entered    this world    first         
              it was ugogo     who  decided,      
                     that my name   
                                     would be on the end of yours    
As a reminder,
             that even when we separate        
                                          we will remain together always.

            brother,     
                     I know    
                     how life     
                     can often
                     feel like
                     years
                     of accumulating
                                        soil       
                    burying us alive,

            and on that day in the garden      
            I felt    the words   
            of our grandmother,

                                     as her bare hands
                                   in brown soil    
                                     delicately    
                                     placed a seed
                                     deep 
                                                within us,
                                     in a place    
                                    where hope can live
        her hope       
                            that someday        
               a soaring tree      with leaves    protruding 
               from tender parts 
               of the chest,

               a bond    as strong
               as the oak tree
                      that towers over     
                      providing shade
                      from a harsh sun,

                   and so, brother       
                                     with this in mind
                    I must ask you     once more,
Do you remember?

Appeared in Issue Fall '20