J. Tsitsi Mutiti
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J. Tsitsi Mutiti was born in Mt Darwin, Zimbabwe. She did
her primary education in Gweru and Concession before
going to Harare for her high school education at Arundel
School. She I didn’t study the Arts after secondary school,
but opted for the sciences. She, however, read widely,
both the so-called classics and science-fiction, of which
she believes "has been under-estimated, yet it is the
imaginative fiction for our times and the future." Mutiti has
published short stories and essays on music.
her primary education in Gweru and Concession before
going to Harare for her high school education at Arundel
School. She I didn’t study the Arts after secondary school,
but opted for the sciences. She, however, read widely,
both the so-called classics and science-fiction, of which
she believes "has been under-estimated, yet it is the
imaginative fiction for our times and the future." Mutiti has
published short stories and essays on music.
Interview with J. Tsitsi Mutiti
1. Please start by telling us a bit about yourself (writing, education, career).
At the University of Zimbabwe I studied Metallurgy, which I dropped after two years when I realised I that I
had misplaced my interests. It is at the UZ that I met and befriended a number of young writers and critics
amongst them Ignatius Mabasa, Praise Zenenga, Memory Chirere, the late Patrick Machakata, Albert Nyathi,
Ruzvidzo Mupfudza and Nhamo Mhiripiri. We all at one time or the other attended, after our normal academic
classes, sessions conducted by Chenjerai Hove, then the writer-in-residence. Hove was popular with us partly
because his novel Bones had just won the prestigious NOMA Award. The sessions provided a place to hang
out together. It also drew eccentrics such as the late Larry “Warlord” Chakeredza who went on to found
Sangano Munhumutapa, a black empowerment group, and was also a self-styled Chief Munhumutapa III . He
too read his poetry and works there like all of us. I don’t particularly remember any female student writers
attending those sessions, although a few of my friends from high school occasionally turned up with me.
I’d met Nhamo on campus and we started dating and married soon after when we were still students. Because
Nhamo is more of the “conventional Arts person” he quickly knew where stuff was getting published, so it
explains why we have often published in the same collections starting with the Bloom – a journal started by
students in the English department. We have published together in two other projects, and editors only realised
we are a couple after selecting our stories independently because I publish fiction under my maiden surname.
My short story, “Two Diners” is published in A Roof To Repair (2000) an anthology by Zimbabwean writers
that won second prize in the 2001 Zimbabwe Book Publishers Awards. Another short story “Spokesman” is
published in Dreams, Miracles and Jazz (2008), a collection of short stories by contemporary writers of African
descent on the continent and in the Diaspora edited by Helon Habila and Kadija Sesay. Yet another, “The Old
Woman” has been selected for publication in the forthcoming collection Women of Resistance edited by
Elizabeth Browdy for the University of Wiscounsin’s African Women Writers Series.
After dropping out of the University of Zimbabwe I went on to attain a Graduate Diploma in Purchasing and
Supply with the Chartered Institute of Purchasing and Supply. I worked in the automobile industry rising to the
position of parts manager. In 2002, I was in the pioneering MBA class at the Midlands State University where
I currently teach. I have also taught at the Chinhoyi University of Technology. I now work as a Supply
Logistician with the Medicines Sans Frontiers and teach part time at MSU. I have published a journal article on
copyright and the Zimbabwe music industry which I co-authored with Nhamo. It’s published in Muziki: the
Journal of Music Research in Africa under the name Joyce Mhiripiri. I am currently working with Nhamo on a
book on the same subject funded by the Zimbabwe Culture Fund.
I am a mother of three teenagers, Kudzai, Antoinette and Tawanda, who, unfortunately, we are now teaching at
home ourselves because there are no teachers and no food at their boarding school. We brought them home
since the school system has collapsed.
In "To Give and Not Count..." the persona is an advocate for destitute children and the
economically dispossessed. Is this poem a direct response to the economic and political deterioration
in Zimbabwe?
This poems is a direct response to the events following the March 29 2008 elections in Zimbabwe, which saw
many children witness the brutalisation and murder of parents, relatives, teachers, neighbours and friends and
all the subsequent events which have happened. I wrote this on the day the “Deal” was signed because I was
very upset by the whole thing. After listening to the speeches before the signing and not hearing much substance
about what the deal contained, my heart turned to all those who had lost loved one’s and how they might be
feeling at that time. At the same time the poem also addresses the general exploitation of weaker groups and
nations by more powerful ones. It allude to fact that much of the wealth and power enjoyed in the world today
is built on the back of the suffering of others. It seems almost a part of today’s logic that kakara kununa
hudya kamwe. If it is not a powerful nation doing this to a lesser nation, then it is a powerful group doing it to
less powerful groups right down to the individual level. Apparently confusingly, this is taking place in a time
filled with the rhetoric of “human rights” and “economic rights”, “sovereignty”, “free trade”, “terrorism”, ”
democracy”, “property rights” in a world where so many only own the right to breathe, and rather filthy air at
that. This poem addresses the ironies inherent in the fact that those who declare that they are willing for their
blood to flow in case such a thing happens or threaten bloodshed are seldom the ones whose blood is shed. It
is of course always easier to volunteer other people’s blood and sacrifices as the price for one’s continued
power or ascent to power, if one is in a powerful position and they are not or if one has a gun and others have
not.
I have read that you have established yourself as a fiction writer. Do you write poetry as what
Mungoshi would call "finger practice"? What other writing projects are you working on?
Quite often I write poetry to help me discharge of some powerful emotion that will have gripped me as a
response to an event in my life. My poetry writing is a kind of emotional catharsis and I use it usually to work
off negative energy from painful emotions. However sometimes I will also have an overwhelmingly beautiful
moment that I want to capture in words or just a weird experience that I want to explore and better
understand. I find that poetry is the best medium for me to express myself at such times. I am currently working
on any number of short stories, a translation project, which will see the translation of an award winning Shona
novel into English and some academic research into how mainstream business might incorporate all those
marginalised groups working in the informal sector as small manufacturers, particularly in arts and crafts.
I have often said, you know, in all these different blogs and other internet forums, that these trying
times in Zimbabwe may lead to a literary explosion, something akin to a Zimbabwean Literary
Renaissance. Am I close to being right? Do you see the gap between writing and reading widening,
leading to a situation where we have more books than we have readers?
Well yes to the first question. The bewildering array of unexpected and unusual events and behaviours being
demonstrated by those “captains of our industry” and our nation must surely lead to such an explosion as
people grapple with the situation to try to understand it, as others are moved by the heartbreaking experiences
and brutal and ruthless deeds that they will have witnessed to write if not in advocacy then at least to stand as
witnesses that the world may know what has gone on and that our descendents may also know how we their
ancestors squandered so many opportunities through sheer selfishness to end up spending even their capital.
The gap between writing and reading will grow, given the expense of books. On the other hand the sheer
numbers of those in the Diaspora who wish to hear about home may create a market for Zimbabwean literature
in the rest of the world.
You teach, right? How has that helped or hindered your writing?
Ironically, I teach business management and business has often rightly been regarded as a heartless practice that
put profits first and people last, despite the rhetoric towards “ethical business practices” and “corporate social
responsibility”. I am interested to discover from my students, many of whom are business managers, what acts
of this nature are possible given the turbulent socio-economic and political context of the past decade. Not
surprisingly there is not really much in the way of these activities going on, although one is surprised occasionally
by a business which can afford a surprising degree of magnanimity in these tough times, not only in giving to the
community but also in looking after their employees. The ironies that I encounter in teaching business
management give me much food for thought and though they may not directly inspire my writing, can give me a
starting point. Teaching both helps and hinders writing in that sometimes you are just aching to write something
but things are very tight and there’s hardly a spare moment. Other slack moments give one much time for
reflection for writing.
This is a random question. What do you think about Dambudzo Marechera in the context of
contemporary Zimbabwe?
Dambudzo’s writing and his themes of decay and hunger and pain resonate with contemporary Zimbabwe very
much. His visions of how the “povo” are exploitable resources are even more true today than when he wrote
his “Oracle of the Povo”. To think on Dambudzo is to consider all those pockets that have been lined by
BACOSSI dollars and other rent seeking behaviour which is rife in the nation at this time. At the same time that
he writes so militantly against abuses of the powerless, Dambudzo also reveals in his writing his own fragility
and vulnerability in a way that can sometimes render him a sympathetic character, sometimes an obnoxious one.
This also exposes to us our own fragility and the precarious nature of our existence. To think on Dambudzo is
also to think HIV/AIDS and the many precious voices that have been lost to Zimbabwe through this. To think
on Dambudzo for me is to think on my friend Patrick Machakata, who died young without fulfilling the great
promise that he showed and many others like him who have left great spaces in our lives and are remembered
with aches in our hearts. In many ways Dambudzo epitomises Zimbabwe, a nation of great promise, wracked
by “economic/political virus” created by the reckless and irresponsible choices of many who should have
known better- which is in the throes of an excruciating and prolonged social devastation.
Do you have anything else you would like to say?
Only that I still hold out hopes for Zimbabwe, although clearly there is no going back to the pre 2000 economic
levels as the demographics, socio-economic and political context have been irrevocably changed. Still we can
build a better nation and honour all those whose lot is has been to be blood donors for our nation building
project.
1. Please start by telling us a bit about yourself (writing, education, career).
At the University of Zimbabwe I studied Metallurgy, which I dropped after two years when I realised I that I
had misplaced my interests. It is at the UZ that I met and befriended a number of young writers and critics
amongst them Ignatius Mabasa, Praise Zenenga, Memory Chirere, the late Patrick Machakata, Albert Nyathi,
Ruzvidzo Mupfudza and Nhamo Mhiripiri. We all at one time or the other attended, after our normal academic
classes, sessions conducted by Chenjerai Hove, then the writer-in-residence. Hove was popular with us partly
because his novel Bones had just won the prestigious NOMA Award. The sessions provided a place to hang
out together. It also drew eccentrics such as the late Larry “Warlord” Chakeredza who went on to found
Sangano Munhumutapa, a black empowerment group, and was also a self-styled Chief Munhumutapa III . He
too read his poetry and works there like all of us. I don’t particularly remember any female student writers
attending those sessions, although a few of my friends from high school occasionally turned up with me.
I’d met Nhamo on campus and we started dating and married soon after when we were still students. Because
Nhamo is more of the “conventional Arts person” he quickly knew where stuff was getting published, so it
explains why we have often published in the same collections starting with the Bloom – a journal started by
students in the English department. We have published together in two other projects, and editors only realised
we are a couple after selecting our stories independently because I publish fiction under my maiden surname.
My short story, “Two Diners” is published in A Roof To Repair (2000) an anthology by Zimbabwean writers
that won second prize in the 2001 Zimbabwe Book Publishers Awards. Another short story “Spokesman” is
published in Dreams, Miracles and Jazz (2008), a collection of short stories by contemporary writers of African
descent on the continent and in the Diaspora edited by Helon Habila and Kadija Sesay. Yet another, “The Old
Woman” has been selected for publication in the forthcoming collection Women of Resistance edited by
Elizabeth Browdy for the University of Wiscounsin’s African Women Writers Series.
After dropping out of the University of Zimbabwe I went on to attain a Graduate Diploma in Purchasing and
Supply with the Chartered Institute of Purchasing and Supply. I worked in the automobile industry rising to the
position of parts manager. In 2002, I was in the pioneering MBA class at the Midlands State University where
I currently teach. I have also taught at the Chinhoyi University of Technology. I now work as a Supply
Logistician with the Medicines Sans Frontiers and teach part time at MSU. I have published a journal article on
copyright and the Zimbabwe music industry which I co-authored with Nhamo. It’s published in Muziki: the
Journal of Music Research in Africa under the name Joyce Mhiripiri. I am currently working with Nhamo on a
book on the same subject funded by the Zimbabwe Culture Fund.
I am a mother of three teenagers, Kudzai, Antoinette and Tawanda, who, unfortunately, we are now teaching at
home ourselves because there are no teachers and no food at their boarding school. We brought them home
since the school system has collapsed.
In "To Give and Not Count..." the persona is an advocate for destitute children and the
economically dispossessed. Is this poem a direct response to the economic and political deterioration
in Zimbabwe?
This poems is a direct response to the events following the March 29 2008 elections in Zimbabwe, which saw
many children witness the brutalisation and murder of parents, relatives, teachers, neighbours and friends and
all the subsequent events which have happened. I wrote this on the day the “Deal” was signed because I was
very upset by the whole thing. After listening to the speeches before the signing and not hearing much substance
about what the deal contained, my heart turned to all those who had lost loved one’s and how they might be
feeling at that time. At the same time the poem also addresses the general exploitation of weaker groups and
nations by more powerful ones. It allude to fact that much of the wealth and power enjoyed in the world today
is built on the back of the suffering of others. It seems almost a part of today’s logic that kakara kununa
hudya kamwe. If it is not a powerful nation doing this to a lesser nation, then it is a powerful group doing it to
less powerful groups right down to the individual level. Apparently confusingly, this is taking place in a time
filled with the rhetoric of “human rights” and “economic rights”, “sovereignty”, “free trade”, “terrorism”, ”
democracy”, “property rights” in a world where so many only own the right to breathe, and rather filthy air at
that. This poem addresses the ironies inherent in the fact that those who declare that they are willing for their
blood to flow in case such a thing happens or threaten bloodshed are seldom the ones whose blood is shed. It
is of course always easier to volunteer other people’s blood and sacrifices as the price for one’s continued
power or ascent to power, if one is in a powerful position and they are not or if one has a gun and others have
not.
I have read that you have established yourself as a fiction writer. Do you write poetry as what
Mungoshi would call "finger practice"? What other writing projects are you working on?
Quite often I write poetry to help me discharge of some powerful emotion that will have gripped me as a
response to an event in my life. My poetry writing is a kind of emotional catharsis and I use it usually to work
off negative energy from painful emotions. However sometimes I will also have an overwhelmingly beautiful
moment that I want to capture in words or just a weird experience that I want to explore and better
understand. I find that poetry is the best medium for me to express myself at such times. I am currently working
on any number of short stories, a translation project, which will see the translation of an award winning Shona
novel into English and some academic research into how mainstream business might incorporate all those
marginalised groups working in the informal sector as small manufacturers, particularly in arts and crafts.
I have often said, you know, in all these different blogs and other internet forums, that these trying
times in Zimbabwe may lead to a literary explosion, something akin to a Zimbabwean Literary
Renaissance. Am I close to being right? Do you see the gap between writing and reading widening,
leading to a situation where we have more books than we have readers?
Well yes to the first question. The bewildering array of unexpected and unusual events and behaviours being
demonstrated by those “captains of our industry” and our nation must surely lead to such an explosion as
people grapple with the situation to try to understand it, as others are moved by the heartbreaking experiences
and brutal and ruthless deeds that they will have witnessed to write if not in advocacy then at least to stand as
witnesses that the world may know what has gone on and that our descendents may also know how we their
ancestors squandered so many opportunities through sheer selfishness to end up spending even their capital.
The gap between writing and reading will grow, given the expense of books. On the other hand the sheer
numbers of those in the Diaspora who wish to hear about home may create a market for Zimbabwean literature
in the rest of the world.
You teach, right? How has that helped or hindered your writing?
Ironically, I teach business management and business has often rightly been regarded as a heartless practice that
put profits first and people last, despite the rhetoric towards “ethical business practices” and “corporate social
responsibility”. I am interested to discover from my students, many of whom are business managers, what acts
of this nature are possible given the turbulent socio-economic and political context of the past decade. Not
surprisingly there is not really much in the way of these activities going on, although one is surprised occasionally
by a business which can afford a surprising degree of magnanimity in these tough times, not only in giving to the
community but also in looking after their employees. The ironies that I encounter in teaching business
management give me much food for thought and though they may not directly inspire my writing, can give me a
starting point. Teaching both helps and hinders writing in that sometimes you are just aching to write something
but things are very tight and there’s hardly a spare moment. Other slack moments give one much time for
reflection for writing.
This is a random question. What do you think about Dambudzo Marechera in the context of
contemporary Zimbabwe?
Dambudzo’s writing and his themes of decay and hunger and pain resonate with contemporary Zimbabwe very
much. His visions of how the “povo” are exploitable resources are even more true today than when he wrote
his “Oracle of the Povo”. To think on Dambudzo is to consider all those pockets that have been lined by
BACOSSI dollars and other rent seeking behaviour which is rife in the nation at this time. At the same time that
he writes so militantly against abuses of the powerless, Dambudzo also reveals in his writing his own fragility
and vulnerability in a way that can sometimes render him a sympathetic character, sometimes an obnoxious one.
This also exposes to us our own fragility and the precarious nature of our existence. To think on Dambudzo is
also to think HIV/AIDS and the many precious voices that have been lost to Zimbabwe through this. To think
on Dambudzo for me is to think on my friend Patrick Machakata, who died young without fulfilling the great
promise that he showed and many others like him who have left great spaces in our lives and are remembered
with aches in our hearts. In many ways Dambudzo epitomises Zimbabwe, a nation of great promise, wracked
by “economic/political virus” created by the reckless and irresponsible choices of many who should have
known better- which is in the throes of an excruciating and prolonged social devastation.
Do you have anything else you would like to say?
Only that I still hold out hopes for Zimbabwe, although clearly there is no going back to the pre 2000 economic
levels as the demographics, socio-economic and political context have been irrevocably changed. Still we can
build a better nation and honour all those whose lot is has been to be blood donors for our nation building
project.
TO GIVE AND NOT TO COUNT THE
COST
Little boy
Sitting glumly in class, sighing
Thinking maybe if you’re good
They’ll bring back your teacher
Maybe they’ll untorture him
Little girl
Working glumly at home, sighing
Thinking if you’re good
They’ll return your mommy
And put her together again
Little boy
Little girl
Big boy, big girl
All equally distraught
Bewildered, wondering
Did you have to go that far
Just for a bit of ink?
Wondering why
That X has to be so dear
Wondering why her brother’s
Is the blood that must atone
For whatever sin resides
In a misapplied X
Wondering if this is how God felt
When it was His one and only Son
Who with his blood was to atone
For all the world’s sin
But at least, he was resurrected
Little girl, little boy
Be brave, be strong
No amount of goodness
Will ever untorture or
Put mummy together again
Now we begin a new life
Of doing without the luxury
Of a mummy or daddy
Brother, sister, cousin
Friend, whatever
Of doing without expensive, damaging
Luxuries, like revenge
Like resentment
And living in the past
Or feeling pain for the
Immense wrongs done
To our beloved ones
Little brother little sister
Be strong, knowing
Our nation being born in blood
Is dammed to be built in blood
Knowing when we pride ourselves
In the bloody nativity of our nation
It condemns us to constant reenactments
Of those bloody scenes
Knowing that sweeping
Accountability
Under the carpet for the sake of peace
Only buys us more tears
In the future
Hearing about hope for
Future glory
Bought through the lamentations of many
Hearing about being realistic
And wondering why
It is more realistic for those
Who commit the most heinous crimes
To always earn the reward of impunity
While those whose lot it is
To be the blood donors
For the nation building project
Find themselves alone and outside
In the cold?
LISTEN NEXT TIME!
Your silent call for help
Comes to me still
And haunts me every day
I shall live
I knew, we all knew;
The aching anxiety in your eyes
Accused each of us in turn,
But in your pride
You kept your silence,
And in our indifference
We kept our silence.
Was it indifference,
Or a perverse sort of pride
Not wanting to be caught out?
It is said that the conman
Is most skilled at
Feigning his distress
So you see
Could I, could we have
All risked being taken in by you
And made into fools?
And in our error
We kept our silence
And in your terror
You kept your silence
Was it wisdom,
Or a misguided kind of worry
Not wanting to be caught out?
None shall ever know.
COST
Little boy
Sitting glumly in class, sighing
Thinking maybe if you’re good
They’ll bring back your teacher
Maybe they’ll untorture him
Little girl
Working glumly at home, sighing
Thinking if you’re good
They’ll return your mommy
And put her together again
Little boy
Little girl
Big boy, big girl
All equally distraught
Bewildered, wondering
Did you have to go that far
Just for a bit of ink?
Wondering why
That X has to be so dear
Wondering why her brother’s
Is the blood that must atone
For whatever sin resides
In a misapplied X
Wondering if this is how God felt
When it was His one and only Son
Who with his blood was to atone
For all the world’s sin
But at least, he was resurrected
Little girl, little boy
Be brave, be strong
No amount of goodness
Will ever untorture or
Put mummy together again
Now we begin a new life
Of doing without the luxury
Of a mummy or daddy
Brother, sister, cousin
Friend, whatever
Of doing without expensive, damaging
Luxuries, like revenge
Like resentment
And living in the past
Or feeling pain for the
Immense wrongs done
To our beloved ones
Little brother little sister
Be strong, knowing
Our nation being born in blood
Is dammed to be built in blood
Knowing when we pride ourselves
In the bloody nativity of our nation
It condemns us to constant reenactments
Of those bloody scenes
Knowing that sweeping
Accountability
Under the carpet for the sake of peace
Only buys us more tears
In the future
Hearing about hope for
Future glory
Bought through the lamentations of many
Hearing about being realistic
And wondering why
It is more realistic for those
Who commit the most heinous crimes
To always earn the reward of impunity
While those whose lot it is
To be the blood donors
For the nation building project
Find themselves alone and outside
In the cold?
LISTEN NEXT TIME!
Your silent call for help
Comes to me still
And haunts me every day
I shall live
I knew, we all knew;
The aching anxiety in your eyes
Accused each of us in turn,
But in your pride
You kept your silence,
And in our indifference
We kept our silence.
Was it indifference,
Or a perverse sort of pride
Not wanting to be caught out?
It is said that the conman
Is most skilled at
Feigning his distress
So you see
Could I, could we have
All risked being taken in by you
And made into fools?
And in our error
We kept our silence
And in your terror
You kept your silence
Was it wisdom,
Or a misguided kind of worry
Not wanting to be caught out?
None shall ever know.
LEAN THINKING
Isn’t it absurd?
Those who have the most
Strive the most to work with less
What comes so naturally
To those who have not
It has of course been our lot
To be the ones they make
More out of less from;
Ten years ago their pound
Bought ten of our dollars
Then five years ago
It bought a hundred
Now it buys hundreds of thousands
In those circumstances,
Do you need anyone to teach you thrift?
Cholesterol is bad for you
We hear
Well if you can afford enough
Cholesterol for it to harm you
You’re well off don’t you think
Sugar in excess will damage your health
They say
But the energy now needed to get it
Will just about balance
The energy out of it
Coke will dissolve a tooth over night
We hear
Well here’s a dental headache solved
Coca cola
Relocates disinvests or
Whatever the current buzzword for deserting your former hosts
Like fleas off a dead dog
Look around you
And you’ll see that
Borrowed tools are not dependable
Oh have we forgotten our
Ancient wisdom in the rush to be a part of
The new age
The global brands
Chanting
“Just do it”
“Obey your thirst”
“J Lo”
Across the globe
Abandoning ancestral wisdom
Has its price;
Living forever on the sufferance
Of those who heed theirs
And on the capital of our children’s
children’s children.
LOVE THROUGH THE WIRE
You called me
In the early hours of today;
A pleasant surprise
Was this unexpected converse
Whose content wound along
Strange paths;
I had not anticipated.
But how empty again
It all felt inside
Afterwards
Though I am always grateful
For every moment
We get to speak.
Even though as soul mates
We are ever together
In spirit;
Sometimes, together-in-spirit
Is ever so insubstantial
That it helps to hear
Your voice.
Isn’t it absurd?
Those who have the most
Strive the most to work with less
What comes so naturally
To those who have not
It has of course been our lot
To be the ones they make
More out of less from;
Ten years ago their pound
Bought ten of our dollars
Then five years ago
It bought a hundred
Now it buys hundreds of thousands
In those circumstances,
Do you need anyone to teach you thrift?
Cholesterol is bad for you
We hear
Well if you can afford enough
Cholesterol for it to harm you
You’re well off don’t you think
Sugar in excess will damage your health
They say
But the energy now needed to get it
Will just about balance
The energy out of it
Coke will dissolve a tooth over night
We hear
Well here’s a dental headache solved
Coca cola
Relocates disinvests or
Whatever the current buzzword for deserting your former hosts
Like fleas off a dead dog
Look around you
And you’ll see that
Borrowed tools are not dependable
Oh have we forgotten our
Ancient wisdom in the rush to be a part of
The new age
The global brands
Chanting
“Just do it”
“Obey your thirst”
“J Lo”
Across the globe
Abandoning ancestral wisdom
Has its price;
Living forever on the sufferance
Of those who heed theirs
And on the capital of our children’s
children’s children.
LOVE THROUGH THE WIRE
You called me
In the early hours of today;
A pleasant surprise
Was this unexpected converse
Whose content wound along
Strange paths;
I had not anticipated.
But how empty again
It all felt inside
Afterwards
Though I am always grateful
For every moment
We get to speak.
Even though as soul mates
We are ever together
In spirit;
Sometimes, together-in-spirit
Is ever so insubstantial
That it helps to hear
Your voice.
| J. Tsitsi Mutiti's Poetry |