Some nights the dank ceiling reminds me
of the rank putrefaction of your halitosis
as you pinned me against the coarse graffiti-despoiled wall
and your dirt-encrusted fingers pawed at the folds of my khanga.
Those nights, the shadows racing across the walls remind me
of rats watching us from the gutter,
that night you took my weak protests for inebriated affirmation
and exposed my secret places to the biting alley draft.
I remember the way itchy goose pimples sprouted angrily on my thigh
As you ripped apart my new lace panties
and drove into me like I was a stubborn mud-rutted road,
As if you were afraid my voiceless screams would drown you
Or out you, more likely.
But even the alley cats knew to keep away,
as you poured this ugly, mongoloid baby inside me.

Nairobi’s women are most likely to be battered, raped, and murdered by their
(former and current) husbands and intimate partners.— Battering, Rape, and Lethal Violence: A Baseline of Information on Physical Threats against Women in Nairobi (2012)

Add your voice

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong> 

required