The girls

I want to write about the girl playing ‘kiss love’
in the soft smoke of sunset.
The skipping rope hits the asphalt
and echoes her heart’s giggle
when she rips open her love letter
and recites it to the rope’s meter.

I want to write about the girl
in her low riding jeans
laughing in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s inherited Citi Golf.
The girl listening to the cd he spent hours burning just for this moment
when she looks at him
his face glowing from the gleam of the windshield
and she burns for him

I want to write about the girl
when she wore perfume and stilettos
danced until her feet went numb
and sweat washed away the floral notes
leaving her scent stamped on her dress.

I want to write about who she was when she was just a bud
waiting to bloom into something plump with life
juicy with laughter, dripping down the chin of a lover
in the endless summer sun.

I want to write about the girls
before they touched the ground, ripped open
and lived the rest of their lives as jam.
Something sweet spread across breakfast
but unidentifiable as them. 

 - Olwethu Mxoli