Vongai Christine Mlambo, Tears That Wet The Ground

Tears That Wet The Ground

Vongai Mlambo

Dive into the river snaking across gogo’s yard Water molding my arms and legs A tender hug plunging me into its depths Releasing control, I choose to sink Emerging only to realize it is a puddle And I am sullied by the filth of promises unkept Lies like plastic beads Weigh down my lungs Each cough a dust of coal Blackening my hands

They tell me Drills piercing fragile soil is “development” And with an economy like mine, I should be grateful for it Each time they strip the landscape dry My people cry Your black gold is worthless We have no use for it

Climate change meetings are a popularity contest Secret societies where the password is “developed nation” Men in black smog suits Debate till they are blue Say nothing of equity. The problem is not climate change It is the ability of privileged To hold rain clouds hostage Leaving the cracked ground cowering at its knees

If climate action affects capitalism, forget it. Who will police the powerful? They cannot be restrained. I jump on their shoulders, cover their eyes Hoping that if they can’t see, they will feel The broken rhythm of my bleeding heart

They send their journalists here to capture the moment A tragic story for the Sunday Times That kisses the memory too softly to be remembered Do those images convince you? My gogo posed for a photographer once, Yielding to his passion to portray tragedy

He trained his black box on her dying garden “What a shame” He thought my gogo’s plantation a hobby Not a battle to feed herself in the ruined environment That distributed justice on its own, Misfired at the broken ones The ones already wearing bullet holes

We have all sinned, but why must she pay? When she uses less than 10 liters a day, Rations meat to once a year Uses the heavily veined sticks in her torso As her primary mode of transport She knew sustainability before it was popular Practiced and embodied it, without expecting a tax break Or a reputation as an environmental savior

She just wanted to be a proud farmer.

My gogo’s homestead is my childhood, But its borders are getting so tight, I am afraid to claim it as my own So I hide in the urban centers of my adulthood Determined to honor her Not to betray her Feigning joy when she calls But silently crying, I would give it all to come home.