October 24, 2025

by WENDY CHULU

Who We Are

Grandma Rose never said it plainly,

but she wore it on her face—

As if shame had been inked too deep to fake.

Kuyanda and I were love’s leftovers,

unflavored bones for latecomers,

stale meals that were no longer delicacies.

We were dilapidated buildings —

unclaimed homes

left only for homeless boys to seek shelter.

We were graveyards—

our hearts harbored haunting ghosts of men we couldn’t make stay.

We were the cursed aunties—

28 and unmarried,

cousin Kuyanda and I.

Grandma Rose never said it plainly 

but she wore it on her face

Like a sin too stubborn to rinse off.

*

SOWETO

Life is what got us here

in these littered streets of Soweto,

scavenging through its ruins for coins,

chasing anything that promises to pay for our meals.

It is our mother's scolding voice

that got us here—

in cozy corners with more cracks

than our father's love

Fighting for a piece of cake,

a taste of freedom,

hope is what made us immune

to the jabs and spits

Of entitled drunks and tax collectors 

life is what got us here,

searching for a home,

a place to call our own.

Even one drowning

in the wreckage of our cruelty

to nature,

even just Soweto.

*

FRANKENSTEIN

Is the Puppet Master Watching?

Is he watching

wondering why I won’t play along

with this charade?

Why I won’t spin on cue,

flex my gratitude

on this tired parade?

Does he think my string is jammed?

That my oversized costume

got tangled

with my will to live?

Is the puppet master watching?

Or is he,

once again,

too busy

for his daughter?