Church, 2016
Knee-length dresses for the ladies and
how to tie-a-tie full tutorial seemed by
the little boys every Sunday.
( Not like I come every Sunday )
Car ride to the holy place seemed long.
Auntie is fixing her brown wig in the passenger seat,
Asking maman if it looked right,
Asking me if it looked right.
Big sis is always playing boring games next to me.
Always joking ‘bout the things I do,
Always joking ‘bout the things I “have” to do,
Never knowing that sometimes it ain’t funny.
Reached the big place,
Entered the big doors.
Some heads turn and I suddenly feel dizzy.
Oh, did you hear it too? The sound of my little loafers.
( Tap, tap, tap. )
A lady walked to the seat in front of me and smiled.
Wow, apparently I’m good at catching the eye–
Or maybe it’s just the baby powder maman forced me to use /
Got me wondering if I looked as light as her now.
Good old pastor could hit the Bible over my head,
Whisper ‘bout bringing God close to me,
Yet none of this changes the boredom this place brings to me.
It only urges me to beg maman to let me close my eyes
/ Nap the hours of praise away / Think about my dolls a few miles away.
The clock ticks, the crowd cheers.
My mind / body / soul are absent.
God shakes his head, even drops a tear
And my consciousness tries to reassure him,
“Next Sunday, I’ll be here.”
Family Gatherings
Family gatherings always feel either two things; Nostalgia or algia.
Nostalgia because no matter where you are, everything feels like a loop of an old memory. The laughter of your cousins echo in your head and sound swells. The adults seem to be dancing the same way for every song but it only looks at the way from the top and so, your eyes glance down and look!
Their footwork is completely different. The aunts are amazing cooks and the babies' bellies are already full.
Algia because you start to feel overwhelmed. Because you’re told to wear a piece you’ve tried to hide in the darkest corner of your closet and one of the aunts tells you that you’ve gained weight or that you’re too skinny. Because the party goes on until 3 in the morning and you can’t sleep. The house is a mess and you’re told to clean. Because back pains have never felt as unbearable as they currently do at the moment and you’re cranky.
Family gatherings / A double edged sword / A battle you can never seem to win.
A Park that Knows Us
Time is a youtheater, sucking up my every memory.
In the ones I’ve lost, I hold those I’ve kept dear– forever reminiscing.
I look back to the days where a plane would take me far away /
Into a land of mischief / A land of freedom– a kid’s dream.
My cousins would always lead the way, my sister and I always following in a sway.
Our destination is one we all knew very well. So well that I can trace our steps to it by soul
alone.
Our laughter used to wake the whole neighborhood and our endless rounds of ding, dong, ditch
made the grannies loathe us / dogs barking / teeth clenching.
Our little feet would drag us to a park where time stopped / There, we were young forever.
Our carved initials in the smooth turns of each slide / Our tears dried in the artificial sand /
Laughters echoed in the pull of the swings.
Our land of mischief and freedom / A park that knows each of our souls.
Anthonella Bitoka is a Junior at Ulysses S. Grant High School, a Congolese girl of numerous linguistic abilities. Living in the Valley, she's caught between doing it all and doing nothing. Her days are filled with music that makes her ears bleed and overflowing school work. She's figuring her life out, one beat at a time. Maybe she's ahead of the race, maybe she's not.
Photo provided by author.
