Night Dancer

Nyalano picks at her food like her tongue is sore
Avoids my face like I’m an ogre’s descendant
Rations her words like they are endangered
Okello! Leave me alone.”
Don’t touch my breast, you think it doesn’t hurt?
I’ll report you to my mother.
Her protest is unconvincing like lies from that child with sugar on the chin
I cup her face and look into her eyes –clear like the full moon
I stroke her cheeks and admire her lips – full and soft like mangoes from Koc
“Nyalano, If only I could swallow you,
Keep you away from the claws of ill-mannered men!”
“Lajok!” she blubbers
My future wife just called me a night dancer.
My people! Save your son before he drinks from
a calabash of poisoned beauty!

© Harriet Anena (pictured above)
Author: Nation in Labour | Twitter: @ahpetite | Facebook: Harriet Anena