21/10/2023
Take me back home to Jacaranda Roads
October blue skies
and praying for the rain,
Please never let my heart stray again,
Far away from my Bulawayo home,
Sitting by the flamboyant tree alone
Counting the cars going up the Matopos Road
Swinging on the gate
Waving to the troopies
Wearing my « Kiss me Quick » T -shirt
And cycling far from the city’s boundaries,
Phoning dad from the Matopos Hotel
And begging him to fetch me home
Tired legs, hot but happy
Little girl of Famona
Where nothing owned me
But the bush,
and the arms of those wide stretched street lights
That lit my way,
Where people collected flying ants after the rain,
And dad kept his fishing things ready
So we could drive out to the dam again,
Radio Matopos and Radio Jacaranda
Eskimo Hut
And the Trade Fair,
Where we roller skated when there was no one there,
And sitting on the roof of Fair Spire Flats
Eating fried onions and burning our skin with homemade suntan lotion
Made of vinegar and oil
Sherbet made from ENO and icing sugar,
And put purple mercurochrome
On scrapes and grazes,
Take me home to pink marshmallow fish
And apricot sweets
And pretend sweet ci******es
And the first drag of Everest menthol as a child under 10
With the big girls,
And Madison red,
And sips of Lion lager from adult glasses
And Cold Duck
And Baby Sham at Christmas
And the first, sweet forbidden kiss
When we played Spin the Bottle in the dark
away from prying eyes
With little boys as innocent as we were,
Take me back to Spin-a-long
And Jody Wayne
And Jessica Jones
And the Rusike Brothers
And David Scobie
And those wonderful seven singles hot off the press,
October exams,
Sweaty sweet school uniforms
And pulling off hot socks
And running barefoot,
Take me back to Rosen’s sadza for lunch
And Sixpence’s opaque beer which I was not allowed to drink,
The smell of Dad’s masese thrown into the water
To attract the fish,
Take me back to Ascot racecourse
And to our dogs and cats
And tortoises and snakes
Take me back to Jacarandas after the rain,
Help me ease this pain,
Take me back to Bulawayo again
For these things are what made the child
The child so free and wild
And now this heart is like a saturated late October cloud,
With all the things I left behind.
Cyndi Barker
