Writing
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Urban dictionary describes “blerd” as such: A nerd who is of African American decent [sic]. A BLack-nERD. Turk: “My cousins a blerd” Carla: !?!?! Turk: A black nerd. Based on their definition I am not a blerd because I am not of “African American decent [sic]”. It’s not necessary to go into my ancestry. Suffice it…
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Earlier today I was hit with the desire to post a blog but I had no idea what to write about. I inquired of my resident expert “What do you think I should blog about?” but then we got busy getting him to the barbershop and then school. Errands were needed to be run. A…
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My bed is full of ashes ghosts and fingers that creep like vines. I, limbless perambulate the contours of a dream that approaches a nightmare. I am home and horizontal.
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Amandla Awethu I It was 1976. A fine time to be alive in soweto: for a change. (just to be alive is a fine time) We whispered about it on the way home from the school where we were told. (we hated afrikaans too) We uttered the word amongst ourselves. Amandla passed from matchbox house…
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forty-six years of diaspora living and finally, i see myself again. forty-six years of living and i refuse to apologize anymore unless i am wrong and wrongness always has a personal and a political component so goodbye, good riddance and good luck. i loved you once. honestly. as freely as i could i loved you…
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The funkiness of fun absolution from writing what seems to be yesteryear. thoughts and memories, the heart and science mingling, interbreeding casting aspersions on the culture somehow still deemed sacrosanct ii echoes of theory resonating in the inner ear and the third eye three hundred and sixty degrees of consciousness includes ascension to humanity still,…
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who would’ve thought that ten minutes of writing would be hard. after all, in the span of a lifetime what is ten minutes? a pot of coffee boiling? the amount of time it takes to fry chicken golden brown on one side? amount of time i spend telling my child to brush his teeth in…
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Elsie was a straight A student, a dutiful daughter and a speaker of three languages. I was nothing of the sort but still, we became friendly enough that I was able to ask why the French teacher called her Tuyet. Americans say its hard to pronounce. I tested it on my one language tongue. Tuyet.…
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Back then, moans manifested through walls like copulating ghosts; making morning after sightings problematic. Now, when I hear sounds through the walls I remember my own moans and how they climaxed into this life where I am a mother listening to my child read himself to sleep.
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Ever since they moved into the apartment with carpet she liked to fly. She would dive head first off of any structure that held her feet “without giving a damn for rugburn” her mother said. Her father just laughed and would swoop in “like an airplane” catch her mid-flight and give her the hugs she loved…
Tichaona Chinyelu 
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