Invisible Earthquake. Malika Ndlovu

cannot fathom how I am supposed to be

      Separated from you physically

      Wrap you up neatly in memory

      Do anything with this hole in me

      That only you could fill

      I will never be walking

      The way I used to walk this path

      Now that I am walking without you

      12th March, 09h35

      Cigarettes put me in touch with my pain

      Catch my breath

      Coat my throat

      I wrap my feet in new shoes,

      My overweight body in new clothes

      Dark and discreet.

      Hair uncovered,

      Toenails deep red,

      Frida Kahlo feelings bleed

      Into my heart and head.

      16th March, 08h45

      Blinded from my vision

      Of a horizon

      Including you

      I feel my way into each day

      I run

      I hide

      I collapse

      I howl inside

      My chest heaves

      I smoke

      Just barely keeping the breath flow

      Oh, my baby, where did you go?

      18th March, 19h37

      Floating in and out of faith,

      Disconnected,

      I try to feel you, my baby,

      But find myself absorbed instead

      In my own sorrow at losing you

      You tore my world in two

      As earthquakes do.

      20th March, 19h37

      This is where the road separates

      Those who have been there

      And those who have not

      Those who know

      Drown in fresh air

      In company

      In shopping malls and parking lots

      In circles of sympathizers

      In the morning

      At any given moment

      In the middle of the night

      Despite the love

      Of those around me

      I drown

      In the silence

      Rain cloud hanging heavy

      Above the traffic of my thoughts

      Around my still pounding heart

      I drown

      In the silence

      Permeating my womb

      23rd March, 10h25

      I am so sore, but refusing to cry – again. I need solitude, but don't want to be alone. I am tired, but avoiding sleep. I do not want to run from thoughts of you or to escape this intense aliveness death has brought me.

      9th April, 16h0

      I light a candle for you, little-one-of-great-impact. You have reshaped me. Throughout my pregnancy you filled me with possibilities, a mother's blind projections. Now with equal force you have abruptly changed my direction. You are a fire burning strong and low. You have returned, only in spirit, to remind me that you did not come to bring me sorrow. Sorrow is not why you came.

      17th April, 10h3

      Of all the tormenting pictures in my head, the image of your body, your blood draining from your limbs, your face, collecting in your cavities, still brings me to my knees. Blood, rose-red peeping from your lips, ears, nose, umbilical cord, from between your legs. I am stained with this imprint of your physicality Blood curdling cries race through me, a sound stream of desperation. I ache for a tangible trace of you.

      21st April, 20h03

      Bongiwe, my beloved daughter,

      My precious unseen one,

      I take each step

      In memory of you.

      My body claims its breath

      As yours no longer does.

      My heart beats on

      While yours is gone.

      Bongi, my beloved one,

      I am tossed,

      I am torn,

      I am stretched,

      I am tested at each turn.

      I keep moving, in honour of you.

      I move because life and love surround me,

      Urge me on.

      Sometimes

      I wonder

      What you would wish

      For me.

      26th April, 10h26

      Seven times in one day, seven conversations all about you, the all-round impact of you, my little Iman Bongiwe. Many times it was a comment about yearning to connect with you or asking where you are that started the tears. Yet now, a quiet morning after, I feel a release from the intensity of that wound. Me all around you, you all around me, in a way I have not recognized till now. I even project what “ feeling connected” with you should be like. I imagine what sensations, what scenario will unfold. I don't know what form or sign I expect. What evidence am I waiting for that will bring the feeling of being consciously connected to you, my angel? I wait. I cry. I battle to digest the possibility that you never actually left me, that you are an enormous gift I simply struggle to receive. I ache to feel your presence, but then I reflect on each day and see that you have permeated every step.

      28th April, 22h45

      My lower back remembers. My breasts remember. My feet remember. When I see the thin film of sweat on my forearms, my eyes linger on the hair there. Your fragile forearms were covered with fine hairs too, an obvious beautiful affirmation that you came from me. The air I breathe thickens with memories.

      1st May, 12h38

      I'm navigating in and out

      Of mental combat

      Trying to figure

      Exactly what station I've pulled into,

      How to answer that simple question

      How are you?

      An invisible earthquake dulls my senses.

      I hear myself speak

      From a distance,

      See their eyes blur in sympathy

      Feel their embraces

      Even in my suspension

      From within the torn earth

      Of my body

      Which bears your death followed by your birth

      Comes a gasp or a howl, or a laugh.

      Sometimes I shrink into my jacket.

      I wave goodbye and walk away.

      There is nothing more to say.

      3rd May, 00h05

      Tonight I sit in the same Lazy-boy chair that I occupied so often in those last weeks of pregnancy, facing in exactly the same direction, pre-occupied with the same distraction – TV. Hours pass as my chest quietly gets heavier and heavier, till I have to switch the TV off. Silence settles in the darkened room. Finally I allow the sadness to sink