Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 254

Mama Mada
The Butcher’s Daughter
by Patra Kam ula
I wake early, begin before the sun
tips itself red onto my hands.
Hush, I’ve learnt the songs I must sing
to you heifers and your calves. I’m already
well acquainted with blood.
Clots and stains as thick as tongues.
It’s a language the boys in the yards
have yet to discover in fluency:
I carry it in brim-lipped cups.
I put my mouth to your warm flanks
inhale your memories
of cud, seeds and grassrows.
Smell the shudder of sweat that comes
hot in the moments before death,
how it bounces back from my night-bare skin
and the hard press of the clay floor.
249