Confession

Angifi Dladla

1.

To this day
the smell of liver
takes me back
back to that Easter night
that betrayed me
into a double murder.

He was alone that Sunday,
my stepfather, alone
with himself
cooking, cooking …

“Why did I come here?”

2.

In my childhood
when they visited my grandmother
it was heavy
in the presence of my stepfather.
My shoulders caved in,
I bristled.
My heart drummed madly,
I sweated.
In the absence of Grandma
when they forced me to say "Pa",
my tongue knotted.
I cried … in the toilet.

3.

I was alone with him
that draining night.
I thought of dashing out
to Mamelodi. No transport.

Perfunctory enquiries ...
In the living room,
I took my Olivetti
and typed meaninglessly.

I could hear him humming
a church tune. It wafted with the aroma
of liver, tomatoes, onions,
through the house.

I was hungry.

Minutes later he brought in
the steaming dish …

4.

I could hear him chewing daintily,
coughing and humming at intervals.
His cough did not chime with flu.
Then he shuffled to his bedroom.

As I took the spoon
a voice came from nowhere,
“Do not eat this food!”
The spoon fell. Its clink
stuttered under the table.

Silence.

Dazed, I looked around.
Again the voice,
“Do not eat this food!”

And I obeyed.
I picked up the spoon
and played at eating.

Though coughing, the man
heard clearly the hard labour
of the spoon and the tongue.
I scooped the pap
and shovelled it to the liver.
I scooped the juicy liver
and dished it to the pap.
Waiting for some seconds,
I resumed deceit
till scraping time.

Then I went to Rex
and Terreblanche;
but I was hungry,
dizzily hungry.

5.

Early in the morning
I went back to Katlehong
to pack my bags for the boarding school.

6.

Winter holidays;
stepfather land. My eyes
landed on eternal winter;
a desert winter in the dogs’ place.

“Something devilish
messed up their stomachs,”
said my mother abstractedly,
“We tried this, we tried that …”

I could see Rex and Terry writhing,
rolling, slithering in blood
and on oozing lumps.

I left them there, left
them intact, left
for good. I left
in tears with the living
wound …

LitNet: 30 August 2006

Click here to read more poetry by Angifi Dladla

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