Songs of Strawberry Hills

Tonight is a special night for him, it’s the anniversary of when his family fell to the Kenyan ground for the last time, so we are lighting candles and holding hands. I have him here and he needs me, I may help him to start over tomorrow. His skin is shining under the soft glow of the candles. He squeezes my hand and I listen to him chant in the voice of a proud African man and the sound glides over me like the cool waters and blows through the room like the dry wind when the sun sets. While we sit and eat, he tells me tales his mother told him and I have him here for awhile and maybe I don’t want Mafunda to die, I want him all to myself.