In the morning I am purple

In the morning I am purple
The early sun
glints off my beaded bracelet
of orange and blue
Giving my white skin an unholy hue
In the morning I am purple
Walking along the dusty dirt roads
Down to the yellow taxi stand
Beautiful shades of smooth
Brown skin
Pass me on my way
And I can only imagine
the horror of my
purple skin
And wonder at how
anyone can find it
beautiful

Orphans like me

I am impressed
by orphans like me
that have been flung
into this world
like leaves scattered
into the wind
far from the branches that birthed them
distant from roots that
nourished them
leaving behind our trees
of biological family

I gather these leaves
Their colors and textures
Pleasing in their differences
Rich in their ability to compliment
The skills and talents
We have obtained
through our singular lives

I am impressed
by orphans like me

the poet from Mwene Ditu

I met him in Lubumbashi
A boy from the village
of Mwene Ditu
Where they live 60 kilometers
From the diamond mines
But don't have running water
Inside, No electricity
Where bicycles run
Like cars

I met him in Lubumbashi
Selling cases of Coke
Primus, Skol and Fanta
from a run down depot
with a broken window and
a metal door
his cot rolled up
behind

He arrived in the capital
Kinshasa
with just one suitcase
a few clothes, some photos
and papers from his past

Yesterday, as we walked
home from the pool
where he's taught himself to swim
I saw him carrying
One of his old school notebooks

What are you reading
I wondered.
Philosophy,
he said.
Descartes, Marcel, Plato
Do you know Socrates
he asked