So, who are you?
She says with a crooked smile, A smile that doesn’t last,
A smile that quickly turns into an anxious grin,
Hamza, I say.
She leans closer,
I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
HAMZA, your grandson.
She looks at my face for a minute,
You are a liar;
Hamza never had a beard,
Hamza was not this thin,
You are a lying strange man,
Please don’t harm me,
I am just an old woman.
No, I am not a liar,
I mutter to myself,
Yes, I was fat and beardless,
But that was when 1 was two,
And you knew everything and everyone.
My grandmother never told stories,
She said only lazy people had time for stories.
Whenever I asked for stories,
She would give me a jembe,
And teach me how to weed.
Or take me for a walk, in silence.
How I wish she was a little lazy,
How I wish she told stories,
How I wish she could take me for a walk,
How I wish she could still remember me.