Volume Five, Issue 2

The She Devil

Thero Molefe

My mother
She left me by the footpath
down the street of the hoodlums
where the guns blaze from sunset
till the dawn glaze of sunrise
In a plastic bag like cold meat,
wrapped in shear and tied like a sheaf

My mother
With the clank of her heels
headed to the hills,
my cries echoing in vain
except to the birds in a fray
The resolve of abandonment
Momentum it gained
Her back turned toward me
in restraint
Emotionless, she remained
With the cold-heartedness of
the mundane

My mother
She birthed me to life
but denied me my birth right
Relegated me to the masses
A tiny spec unseen and nameless
An irritation of nuisansical mitigations
The faceless thing whose umbilical
cord she did not keep

My mother
Her life I ruined by my mere existence
Refused to die whilst still in the absence
Her life she almost took trying to end mine
Trying to eliminate his remnants inside of her
The traces of him when he took her in
Forced himself on her forcing her to have me

My mother,
Refusing to be the caretaker of
the devils spawn entrusted to her
She left me by the bushes
Near the ally of the hooligans,
to fend for myself or be found
by a heart needing to mend
So in retaliation she remains,
throwing away the garbage
that ended up on her doorstep
without her request
My mother

Thero Molefe: “I am a writer/poet who recently entered the creative world during the lockdowns imposed by Covid-19. However, writing is something I have gravitated towards from a very young age but did not have the courage to share it with the world. My writing skills can be confirmed in my Facebook page Words By Thero Molefe. My writing focuses on thought-provoking issues that challenge societal ills and expectations.”

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