Author Topic: Gift  (Read 28 times)

Martha kirabo

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« on: January 14, 2020, 06:50:55 PM »
He was 34. A brown paper package of flesh and blood. His left ring finger was tied up in a gold string band that confirmed he had been opened.

By 19, my little heart had already worn love's designs in glamour and broken pieces but I could hear them shattering with mending ease as his chest touched mine in a warm embrace that sent a soothing feeling of release from a love not holding me and set a fire to all my christian values.

In the following months my head went on vacation to the solitude of space without the rest of my body from where she remote controlled my feet to travel vast distances with him in hand.  One of our weekend get- aways led us through thickets of suppling years of hardship and a civil war that ransacked his mother's village and threatened to transform it into a somber rainforest.

But nothing prepared me for the pleasure that made me sing soprano when he took me by the hand one crazy Saturday evening as the sun's golden beam rolled westwards from Entebbe resort beach to bid goodnight to a day that had just begun.

He took me by the hand
Away from the crowd
Down by the shores
Darkness was a shield and curtain
From unforeseen intrusion
Sighs of that sweetness loud cries
Only us could hear.

It was from that moment I knew that this gift was not one I was going to be given but one that was going to be stolen.

If only for a moment.


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