February 25, 2025

by MUKANDI SIAME

The Vine

Pretty?

The salty warmth beneath the hypnotic hibiscus flowers of your chitenge,

a spell wrapped around your waist,

an omen that blooms into my reflection.

Slipping into your shoes,

strutting across your bedroom,

waiting to be old enough for your classic Red Door. 

I grew.

  Too big, too tall, too much—

yet never enough. 

You sat at ease, the heart of our table, 

but I am a night watchman, restless in my skin.

Healthy?

I count the pounds, 

fear the bumps on my skin—

the way hay fever turns to a cough,

the whisper of cells gone astray,

ready to bud something darker.

I shy from oil, from cream, from rice at the buffet,

hoping my chin will keep the secret

of the chocolate hidden under my bed.

Doctors confirm what I am;

  Too big, too tall, too much—

yet never enough. 

Worthy?

Born one after the other,

we were raised wild as bright-yellow witch-weed, 

shooting towards decay without stopping time.

Is this the end?

If love knocks,

can I let it in? 

What if this vine bears no fruit?

Will there be glory in this body?

question marks hover—

casting shadows over every answer.