2 Short Fictions of Mbizo Chirasha, of which the first is titled Letter to God

Somewhere beside Zvagona  hills, near  Zvamapere  ‘kopje of hyenas’ , adjacent to the foothills of Dayataya mountain  lies  bones and spirits of my great grandfathers    and their descendants .I loved this land   .Every rain season, Zvagona hills were village brides fitted in green dresses and floral doek’s over their heads. Their lush skin shimmered blue from a distance  in the hazy of  December sun .
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How like your wife
my mother looked
and like your wife,
felt your love
chill to the bone.

Whenever I’m alone…—The Cure
Another night heron flew through my rib cage and left behind
its reflection, but no one ever wades into a slough with an alligator.

When I thought she might have wanted me, I shot my load
over my shoulder, but she was only interested in my shoulder’s leaves.

According to all my research, I will be going to heaven. I will not occupy the realm of Mother Theresa or other famous do-gooders. But I was a social worker, psychotherapist, Sunday School teacher, summer Bible school teacher and feminist activist. This should count for something and put me in the middle-to-upper realm with many of the same.

Caffeine and volume burst me.
I bellow like a campfire marshmallow
full of gunpowder and Tabasco,
an armadillo, armored car
muffling an IED.
Dusty plumes of life escape my pores.

There needed an acclamation
or a Midas touch of soft elegy
for the Gopalpur beach

in the foamy auras the blue acrylics
of a longitudinal canvas, that’s phlegm
drenches in acid fumigation.

Tenderly hearted martinis
redecorate casualties and
unbidden joy.

The city is packed
with Friday night
and red tear drops
hang from
my falsified sky –

I absorb heat
through porcelain
and try on different lives.