Posted in Poetry, Standalone Poems

Traveling with Guitar BY DEBRA MARQUART

For you can travel with a screaming red rolling bag
and float unnoticed on conveyors, through terminals

or you can lug half a moose rack from Maine
to Minnesota, carry it like a broken wing through airports

as my friend Gro did, and draw only the curious touches
of children waiting at gates. But dare to travel with a guitar

and invite confessions from strangers in pinstripe suits
of garage band summers, invite winks, gotcha smiles,

and devil’s horns rock on gestures. Invite finger points
and winks, the long tongue licks, and the rubberneck glance

to check if you are someone famous. To dare to travel
with a guitar is to mark yourself charismatic megafauna

of the airport terminal. Old friend, what else could I do
but carry you? I have stored you in closets, propped you

in corners, hunched over you late-nights, staring perplexed
at the mysteries of your neck. Body of my body, string

of my strings, see how the world began to hum and sing
that day at thirteen when I opened the big birthday box.

Poem copyright ©2015 by Debra Marquart “Traveling with Guitar,” from Small Buried Things, (New Rivers Press, 2015). Poem reprinted by permission of Debra Marquart and the publisher by Poetry Foundation . Traveling with Guitar was retrieved from Poetry Foundation on June 12, 2018.

I thought I’ll share someone else’s poem about our Make We Go theme with you today. I found this poem by Debra Marquart (first time meeting her and her work) and I love it. Have a lovely week. Please note that this poem is by no means a work of mine😆.

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Posted in Poetry, Standalone Poems

When You Meet Your Father

Father is a mason
Of new temples.
We met
He pulled me
Down in three days.

 

©Awo Twumwaah 2018.

Posted in Fiction, Novel, When Love Stays

When Love Stays: Chapter 9

Read Chapter 8.

“I think you should have still gone home with your husband.”

Dzidzor was sitting in front of the mirror in her room at her parents’. She had peeled off her heels from one foot and was rubbing her soles. Senam was on the third repeat of her point. Dzidzor still kept to her silence.

“Is it because he had shown up late?”

Senam still stood by the wall, her hands crossed against her chest.

“But had he not called you while you were with me taking the pictures to tell you this same thing you are angry about?”

Dzidzor still answered with her silence. She was letting her unzipped dress slid off her. She went to the wardrobe to find one of the dresses she didn’t pack. She saw the black dress she had worn the night Sule proposed hanging and now slowly dangling as she jerked the wardrobe open with the anger she was determined to not give words to. It all looked lonely. Dzidzor shut it and pulled out a drawer. Her hands fell on a dress – maxi for her size now. She would have smelt it if her mother was not here. She would have cried too. But why had she not packed that black dress? She thought hard as she wore the brown dress. Nothing of a reason came to her. Only her mother’s gaze persisted for an answer. Continue reading “When Love Stays: Chapter 9”

Posted in Essays, Non-Fiction, Opinion Pieces

Your Mama Born You?

I was in University then. I had called my male best friend, sitting outside our house, right by the kitchen. I had almost cried. Or I did and through muffled words told him I think my mother prefers, and by my use of prefers I meant wants, one of my elder sisters to me. Of course, he had told me it couldn’t be true. He didn’t know my mother in person or through any personal relations. But he knew every mother wants her child she brought out of her own body. Mind you he had not said the exact words. These are the spirit behind the words. I had agreed and walked away happy. Even pacified. Continue reading “Your Mama Born You?”

Posted in Fiction, Novel, Novella, When Love Stays

When Love Stays: Chapter 8

Read Chapter 7

What is one to do not to be wanted by her husband too much?

Dzidzor typed the question slowly and clicked the search symbol on her google search app. Google obliged. She, however, found her eyes too tired to read and cleared up all the recently open apps on her phone. She moved the files on her desk around and studied the clock on her office’s wall. She turned her seat and faced the open windows. The world outside hers was quiet and immediately appealing. There were few cars on the road leading down TARGET’s office lane. Her mind was soon settled on a young teen standing on the thin white line between the cars. He would walk to any approaching car and begin to clean the windscreens. About two drivers dismissed him and he was about approaching the third car when the traffic light went green and the cars began to move. He hurried unto the sidewalk and was caught up in what Dzidzor thought a light-hearted warm chatter with other teens just like him. Besides the strong empathy, Dzidzor would always feel for teens like the boy outside of her office windows, she did not know what to make out of her brief acquaintance with him. She turned to find her father standing in her doorway.

“Daddy?

Continue reading “When Love Stays: Chapter 8”

Posted in Make We Go, Poetry

What Shall They Call This?

we swayed and the bus
and the silence grew too quiet
and the music of parts faulty,
of sacred negligence echoed my chest
should we die today
I sang along
should we die today comrades
shall it be divine
a romance too soon coming
the music of members broken
will be our dirge
the cranky metals
and rust and civil silence and faults
shall sing us home
slowly comrades

© Awo Twumwaah 2018.

Posted in Fiction, Novel, Novella, When Love Stays

When Love Stays: Chapter 7

Read Chapter 6.

Sule came out of their garage barely letting his feet touch the floor fully as he took steps towards their hall and finally their bedroom. His eyes were a hue of red and cream and he yawned with every step he made. He was inside, about turning on the lights in the hall when he remembered how new the entire outside of their building had felt to him and why so. The lights had not been turned on. He yawned again like sleep will soon knock him over. He had turned on the lights, both inside and outside, and had stood there for some time, almost lost. His weariness was not as much from having to sit through a Tahil meeting for a good part of his day as it was the disappointment of not having Giovanna show for her interview. He slowly stirred, glancing around the now lit room thoroughly and sighed. He made his way towards their bedroom and was soon about backing out to the kitchen or hall or anywhere to call out Dzidzor’s name. He was no longer sleepy, he would not let himself yawn and his eyes were clearing. It had dawned on him that Dzidzor had left work early to visit with the Gabrahs and their Son Junior at the St. Anne’s Children Hospital. She would have called to say if she won’t be home early. She hadn’t. Their front door had not been locked. She should be home. But if she was, she wouldn’t have put off their lights for any reason. He began calling her name. It didn’t matter that he was still standing at the same spot between the walkway and their bedroom. The silence on his third shout is what brought reason to him – she could be asleep. And calmed, somewhat, he had walked into their bedroom still floating to find Dzidzor sitting still on their bed, her face to their bathroom and the room clad in total darkness.

“Dzi” Sule knelt by her, one hand on her hips, the other reaching for her face. Continue reading “When Love Stays: Chapter 7”