My cousin says eventually the oceans will swallow the earth—a cleansing she calls it.
She says it with excitement, she’s always known to keep herself afloat,
Her mother’s hands just above the surface.
I have not yet learned to swim
I stagger my entire being out on the horizon, looking everywhere but the deep blue.
When the Atlantic claims me, I’ll be the many names no one remembers.
Algae’s grip tight around my ankles, promising to savour every crevice that bears itself open.
I have not yet learned to swim
The Atlantic devours and it is hungry for my dreams, who do I call out to?
When it is my umbra that cannot scream.
Dark clouds surround me, I will be engulfed by my very fear of existence.
I have not yet learned to swim
The ocean’s ceaseless flow impels my sense of self down its inevitable path.
Crashing waves demanding I listen, demanding I look!
Look at my desperate attempts for control!
I…
Let the sea cleanse me, be reborn and take my rightful place on this earth.
Kiss the feet that help me stand, bless the mouth that helps me speak,
and protect the mind that helps me birth new worlds
I have not yet learned to swim
Because…my arms caress my womb, holding on to what is dead, eyes burnt shut from salty water, like I was not crafted from it, like its genesis did not start in my canal.
When the great cleanse comes, I hope the Atlantic remembers that I am her daughter,
As I have not yet learned to swim.
Vekondjisa Nosipho Katusuva is a poet and open mic performer, as well as a recent graduate of The University of Science and Technology, with a bachelor’s degree in English and Linguistics. She is currently working on her first poetry collection.