Poetry and Prose
"I loved fairy tales, legends and myths; my favorite was the legend of my father."
I always loved fairy tales, legends and myths,
because even though i knew they weren't real i always had this glimmer of hope that they were
and even though i feared them i revered them, because despite how much we were scared of
them they brought us all together,
my favorite was the fable of El Asesino, the Devourer of Worlds,
a man who roamed the earth spreading his seeds and then leaving them defenseless and alone
you never knew when he was coming, you never saw him, all you heard was children's souls breaking in the distance
and his voice was raspy probably from all the times that he cursed the women that he impregnated,
one by one he made them fall for his charm and time after time he left them bearing the broken offspring
he freely moved where he pleased after his bloodline was brought to life,
some say he brought forth the spawns of evil, the originators of emotional mutilation
out of his body came titans that wreaked havoc where they walked, they made the ground shake with every tear that fell from their eyes,
they pulverized and obliterated everyone in their paths leaving their victims' remains to ash.
some say that he comes to the strong, because he wants to break them, he wants to weaken them just as he did his children,
he wants to push you to your limits impetuously
for some reason when I was younger he always seemed to be the thing of nightmares for me, he haunted me,
sometimes I cried because I hated when I would close my eyes and see his face cause it could never be erased
legend says that all you had to do to stop him was put a mirror in front of him, because he was scared of his own reflection,
he never wanted to be reminded of the destruction he caused
he had a hole in the middle of his chest exhibiting the empty cardiovascular cavity he possessed, he had no heart that anyone could touch,
and he stood hunched over because he carried the broken pieces of all the children on his shoulders
my mom always told me that if he ever visited me, and she knew he would cause I was strong, she told me to look in his eyes and I never understood why, maybe because he feared those covered with a mother's love
I was covered, submerged in her love, I don't know.
but I do know that the night he came to visit me, I hid under my covers until he came close enough for me to look straight into the windows of his soul,
and he didn't look a thing like he was depicted in those legends
or that book that lay beneath my mother's bed that was entitled family photos,
he looked like a variation of me
all I knew is that when he looked into my eyes he couldn't help but cry cause I was a mirror that he couldn't deny,
I was a mirror that he just simply couldn't break
I reached out to touch him and his body slowly became solid, gradually transitioning from the transparent gas to living, breathing flesh, as my hand extended toward his, the empty chest cavity slowly but surely began filling inand his posture began straightening.
but, as soon as my hand touched his, he suddenly began to disintegrate,
before he became a figment of my imagination, he smiled a crooked smile and whispered
legend says that if one of his titans touched him with love he would no longer exist,
I loved fairy tales, legends and myths, my favorite was the legend of my father.
About the author
My name is Erica Elizabeth, I am 21 years old. I am currently a member of the Leaders Corp at the University Community Collaborative at Temple University and I also do part time HIV counselling work with several clinics around the Philadelphia area
A Weekend in Manhattan ......changed us forever
I wanted to browse in TriBeCa bookshops, drink decaf soy latte (with cinnamon).
You wanted to window shop in 5th Avenue for things neither of us could afford.
I said, "Let's visit the African Burial Ground and the Schaumburg Center."
You pleaded to drive around Central Park in a horse and buggy.
I suggested eating at Sylvia's in Harlem.
You insisted on eating in Wholefoods on Union Square.
Then that call came from home; your mother had died,
and all that disparity from before was gone.
I put my arms around you as I saw you cry for the first time.
I gave you all the tissues I had still not enough.
We squeezed hands till we landed back on the London tarmac.
Kadija Sesay is the founder of SABLE LitMag, and editor of several anthologies. Her own work has appeared in anthologies, journals and encyclopedias. She has received several awards for work in the creative arts and is a Fellow of the Kennedy Center for Performance Arts Management. She was shortlisted for the Glenna Luschei Award for African Poetry for her collection, Irki. She is working on another collection, The Modern PanAfricanist's Journey for which she received a Research and Development Grant from Arts Council England. Most recently, she coordinated the setting up of an African Poetry Library in The Gambia for the African Poetry Book Fund. See sablelitmag.org
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