Prickly peace jug
Was how I was born
Despite how my parents, poured their love into me
And christened me Zola, peace, my second name
I cried well into nights keeping them and the neighbours up
As resilient as mould
Was how my older brother described the wails
Not in so many words
But you could tell that’s what he was trying to say.
Moist seeping out of walls, softening the furniture, then growing into the clothes.
That’s how I grew on them.
Calming as a clothesline,
The smell of fresh linen filling the air
And a light breeze animating a dress, a shirt, shorts, nappies etc.
It melted even the coldest of hearts to see and smell the ghost of a small family
Waving in a sunny afternoon’s light breeze.