the daughter of Da Vinci

full of childlike curiosity,
walking with grace & poise,

expression revealing
contemplative concentration
& wisdom 
beyond her years,

eyes hinting of 
the mystery within,

an extraordinary specimen,
a free spirit
& child of the earth,

a creator and vessel of
beauty

through the eyes of another...

   Beneath these bright, 

         cloudless skies 

crowning this luscious, green 

     country

  I sit

  under the shade of trees

  that rest 

    at the foot of the volcano...

turning a piece 

  of lava rock 

       in my scarred

but lovely hands,

 I observe its surface,

      porous & rough, 

while a gentle breeze 

     washes over me, 

kissing my dark

  skin

     & rustling the foliage 

above... 

  I close my eyes

      and breathe it in,

praying that it

   washes away the 

scars in my heart

       & on my body... 

  I can smell the lake

on the breeze... 

Lake Kivu, 

    

    both beautiful 

        & haunting, 

where thousands of 

   coffee farmers

drown every year

       attempting to 

smuggle their crops

    across the border

        after dark

to do business 

     in an economy 

better than their own... 

  Sounds of bodabodas 

        & horns, 

    the bustle of the 

            market, 

  & children playing

           in the distance

reach my ears... 

   There is much 

to be done...

     cooking, cleaning, 

  & taking care of 

     my younger siblings... 

but I had to 

     get away,

if only for a 

      moment... 

 I open my eyes

    & my gaze 

falls once

       again 

to the scars 

    that cover my body... 

scars from a group 

      of rebels

that passed through 

      our village, 

destroying our homes 

        & crops, 

 killing many, 

     attacking & raping

me and many 

     other girls

    who couldn't get

away fast enough, 

      first hiding 

their siblings

   & children they'd born

from past attacks...

  The flashbacks 

        force me 

to close my eyes

           once again,

 trying to blink the 

       memories away...

 I take a deep 

       breath

& slowly open

     these eyes-

     these eyes 

holding more 

     pain

        & 

        maturity

than a girl 

    of fifteen years

 should hold... 

     I take in 

         my surroundings

      and 

      for the moment

      the images are gone... 

 I stand up slowly, 

      brushing dirt off my skirt, 

 and place the lava rock 

     in my blouse pocket...

 I thank the trees 

         for their shade 

    & solitude, 

      then begin my 

way back

      to the village. 

7:30am

[A morning in the life

of a Congolese girl]        

  

Seeing with my heart...

the backseat of my car
     reflects the state
               of my mind-

    a cluttered mess

 in need of an intervention,

   a vacuum
         and a trash bag

to remove the junk,
         the chaos of my
               thoughts

far from my skull

       which has proven
 reluctant

     to allow all the
        unnecessary thoughts
    that
preoccupy and clutter
     my mind

  to pass through
           its confines

   and clear my head...


     It has become
          increasingly difficult

to just sit & be,

    to see
       with my heart
              & soul

rather than
     my eyes
           & my mind...

    to rid my mind
        of the expectations,

   the "supposed to's"
                         &
       the "should's",

and let my free spirit
     be my guide,
  
       my heart be
my compass,

& my soul be
             my song...


    I must break through
       the cage that is
my mind,

         for my very
                life,

    the flame burning
        in my chest,

     depends on
        &
        demands it.