Celebrating East African Writing!
Pain is irremediable and sincere. So I close my eyes and immerse myself in my fever.
The patients of the hospital are so much more worthy.
They fall ill briefly and without vertigo (those that are saved).
Those who die do so easily; in the blink of an eye they are stripped of heartbeat.
I however suffer and feel that my weight is unbearable. And I want to lie and hide the trembling of my thighs. But then my lips tremble. And deeper inside, my dreams. And somewhere in the fever I name you. I say your name to make you real, to make my fever an object, a shelter:
Look, I offer you my pain because it is forever.
Because it inhabits me.
Because it is more me than my blood, or than my sex, or than my hands.
Because it learns my body.
Kiss my deterioration.
Youth is a lie.
Beauty is only sometimes.
Love me infected or broken blood.
Love me rumor.
Love me wound.
© Maria Ferreira 2014