Sunday, I am eating millet bread.
Church is over at St. Mary’s, to my west.
I have seen her before.
She is a light-skinned flame,
of either Kikuyu or Kamba descent,
that illuminates the sea of darkness around her.
Her head keeps swaying,
her legs keep walking,
her ass keeps wiggling.
She’s doing a slow rhythmic dance,
while walking beneath my balcony.
She’s pulled her hair up and
tied it into a ponytail at the back of her head.
Simple. No rings. No bracelets. No necklaces.
A black blouse, and a white miniskirt
that hugs her body.
She twists this way and that way.
Long yellow legs and thighs warm in the sun.
I am playing music that she cannot hear
but her swaying, her walking, her wiggling
to the rhythms of the
She is swaying. She is walking. She is wiggling.
Her large eyes look up from the ground.
She is looking at God.
I am God.
Ongata Rongai, Kajiado.
Sunday, February 23, 2014.