The poetry of Abigail George

The rules of the Masai woman

Who listens to smoke? Breath pumps

through me. You’re a symbol. You’re

good and kind folk. Perhaps you’re a

Lutheran now or Methodist. There’s a

story here. I find the supple-subtle words

drowning in deep despair and loneliness,

pathetic frustration, listless and lethargic

yet alive. Bone envious of flesh. Mother

abandoned me. Father neglected mother

who in turn neglected me. I think back

to those wasted years of my twenties and

early thirties. I think of the rich men. Their

character and personalities. How the rain

always showered promises on top of my

hungry head. I’m an innocent. You’re the

devil. Walking around as if nothing can

touch you. As if you’re some kind of martyr.

You’re still living and breathing just like each of

those rich men while I’m in need of prayer.

Pushcart Prize nominated Abigail George is a South African-based blogger, essayist, poet and short story writer. Recipient of two grants from the National Arts Council in Johannesburg, one from the Centre for the Book in Cape Town, and another from ECPACC in East London, she briefly studied film at the Newtown Film and Television School in Johannesburg.

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