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.