My Johannesburg, many years ago, many moons ago Kite #Poem by Abigail George

 

I get into his car
There’s no invasion of Ukraine yet
No bombardment on Kyiv
No Zelensky in a bunker
No Russian tanks in Donbas
No drones flying overhead in a field
There’s no turning back
There’s no Palestine on the news
Or even in the newspapers
There’s no talk of the fall of Gaza or Gaza in ruins
No children’s bodies under rubble
No funerals in the what used to be city streets
No displacement
No school in a refugee camp
Or choir
Or musician with a string instrument
No refugee camps in Sudan yet
No just a dense sea of bodies, just black holes not yet
I get into his car
But I don’t know where I’m going
I have no idea where I’m going
Where he’s going to take me
I put my safety belt on
But I don’t feel safe
He doesn’t say anything
I don’t say anything
I put my hand on his knee
To steady myself
To get a grip on the situation
I’m in his car
I don’t know where I’m going
I wait for the robot to turn green
I focus on the woman
In the next car
Her child on the backseat
The child stares back at me
The dog pokes its head out of the
Window to get a better look
How did I get here?
Mandela is free
South Africa is a democracy
But I don’t feel free
What will my father say, think?
I’m in the man’s car. The man who is older,
in his late thirties or early to mid-forties
I don’t know where I’m going
I’m scared