MY SISTER'S NECK

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By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros OSF 

I can swear I always thought my nape resembled my sister’s.

It was the way the teacher rubbed grime off her dark neck.

To prove a point. Her nape was so dark, darker than shiny tar.

The darkness too was proof of dirt. Rubbed until it bled.

If she showered enough, her nape would be fairer, said he.

My sister showered and scrapped and soaked her nape, until it seemed scarped.  

Until it got calloused and pimpled and jaggy.

I started to hide my neck deep inside the collars folds.

Until it was thought a disability. The tortoise, I was named.

A new symptom too emerged with the withdrawal, nuchal rigidity.

My sister now has children, brilliant, beaming and golden dark.

Their napes pure and uncropped, I itch to touch.

Now grown, I realize how black and dark are no measure of dirt.

But I am so sad, the teacher died in ignorance, may be heaven will teach him.

© December 2020

 

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