on the birth of our daughter, Tlotlo

now that you are here little one with your soft and tiny little feet and that bright bright smile on your face, i wish I could tell you (all is fine) all will be fine – but i would not be doing justice to the children in Congo digging cobalt with their bare little fingers digging cobalt to satisfy the unceasing greed of the western worlds– i want to promise you safety my little one hide you in my tummy like a baby-kangaroo but they bomb babies like you in Gaza, Israel, Russia and Ukraine right this very minute and the soldiers eating proudly together afterwards with their machine guns and hand grenades hanging tightly at their backs – stroking your little fingers like this brings me so much joy my little one i wish someone could paint this moment of total bliss so that it lasts, so that is lasts on the painting while i sail deeper into my grief-stricken heart and display familiar fierceness painted on my eyes – you see my little one, this world’s joy was meant only for the rich not your grandma who broke her back washing and cooking for the elites not for your grandpa wo was called boy by children of his employers and certainly not for me and your mother struggling to raise you in love, for the guns and bombs won’t stop rattling outside, shaking the very root of our fear –