Instinct told us to look out the window as quickly
as the babyflies came out of nowhere. The sun knew
to shed its glare on every curtain with the opening
to play outside. The rain had passed, the termites
were flying, calling us out. We ran. One told us
that the people of old used to eat these fried, or so her
grandfather told them. After the rain came a playfulness
no chide could tame. We found plastics to put the termites
in, caught them one by one and plucked their papery wings out.
And our song¬–such joy on the street. Come babyfly, fly babyfly.
Unknowingly interrupting the affair of the nuptial flight.
Tshifhiwa Itai Ratshiungo (born 1999?) South Africa
Source: African Writer August 31, 2020
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