Lake Kariba, 2020

by Farai Chaka

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​Our vision of summer       was sunken feet       sunlight
moths suspended over black water       mangoes
morning silence       evening prayer       absence of shadows
what we did not know was that a snake slithered on the beach
& died       skin alight with luster stretched like the heaven’s light
we scooped up to our faces and rinsed       in the mornings
we watched naked thighs & confused them for glory       desire
could never be pure like that       like a collage robbed of context
or the way sunsets unfolded all around blood red & unowned
when dusk washed over we felt clean & wanted       & somewhere
someone was dying & tearing & folding       when we gazed
across a flat plain scorched we thought the water was water       that
our bodies were the kind we tamed and understood when we speared
into water our bodies were crooked questions       unanswered
& somewhere       someone watched & did not speak

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Farai Chaka is a writer from Harare, Zimbabwe. He is an avid reader who enjoys long walks and horror shows.

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