I have been lost for words, amazed at what Lion's mane genius capsules have done for my memory. I woke at 4am and wrote this saw past my aphantasia, no mind's eye.

for 20 years i have been writing blackhole

Poetry, finding hope in hopeless hope.

I wrote this story from a different angle

Another culture. Wouldn’t it be magic if

this were a cure for aphantasia writer's block?

                      Overwhelmed.

 

 

WHISPERING-WIND-CHIMES

 

I-d-e-a, stood by the kitchen window

Her corrugated shantytown. Her two rape

Victim children were never told who their

dad was. They were safe at school, that’s all

that mattered the rain rattled off the roof like

a drum, the shower of rain was over in

seconds.

 

She took her hooded coat in case. The front

door wind chime blew open. Just when she

thought she was free to buy that nice bright

trad design dress she walked by every day on

the way to the market and dreamed of

wearing that dress and the music pumped

through her head, she danced to the Fela-

Kuti beat.

 

In walked the brute and killed that dream, he

walked through like the cheap pimp he was

with his gold imitation lions head cane

mumbling his negative bullshit, he pushed

prodded her like an animal. When you gonna

put them two bitches on the street, blood

they 13 already, he said.

 

How much your skinny ass make last night

come on me ain't got all day spoken in broken

African English brogue. He prodded her across

the kitchen table, all she could think of was

yet another mouth to feed.

 

There was wind-chimes everywhere at the fridge

door the front door the windows. Bright

charms of happiness from clamshells, the

wind blew through them whispering in her

ear, one day you’ll kill that that bastard she

stuttered, his evil vice was making her stutter.

 

She took out a wad of bills from in her bra

and he snatched it out of her hand

and took the ten dollars she saved for

the dress in her right tit, he tweaked her

nipple and grinded a sick broken tooth grin.

 

Began to unfold the note’s and count them,

this for your rent he pocketed a wad and this

is for your ass he tossed two dollars into the

air. It’s my time of the month she said, bit of

blood never hurt said he mmmmmmmmmm.

 

He lifted her drab dress with the cane

blood oozed down her leg mm he uttered

and got hard. Done what he had to do

clattering the wind chime when he came

above his head that whispered in her head.

I’ll kill that bastard one day.

 

She hoisted up her knickers took her measly

Two dollars only enough for potato and bone

soup she walked after she closed the gate

and watched his sad un-pimp like gait

swing the lion's mane across the dirt road.

 

A car came suddenly roared by like a lions

roar and tossed his sad body into the air

floating like the two dollars floating, she

relished the moment. He lay crippled on 

the dusty road. Through his blood curdling 

utterance. She leaned down looked

around and at his broken body, there was no

one took the cane and battered his head to

a pulp with the lion's mane wiped it clean of

cum and blood on her dress took all his

money strolled off yelling help hit and run

Swinging the mane cane.

 

Strolled off to get her kids from school

and jumped a bus to the city, she watched 

the township go by. She held her children.

My father held me up she said called me

I-D-E-A meaning Free. She held up IDEA 1.

and IDEA 2.  All 3 Was on their way to bright

whispering words that chimed.