Each Wednesday, Editor's Choice brings you a poem from a new book selected as a must-read. Our feature editor this week is Vivek Narayanan.
Mxolisi Dolla Sapeta

this morning when i was looking for a boy to send to the local spaza i saw charlie. he was wearing a bleached cap displaying an alcohol brand, an old clean white shirt, a trouser with no recognisable colour and flip-flops. it's a year since i saw him roaming about the same space. charlie never left white location. he did work for a number of companies as a van-boy, hand lender or assembly line fitter. i was born in white location too and charlie was older than me. his hey-days when he worked the companies and played for the local soccer team and banged a few girls that have now aged too. he still lives in a back room of the house he was born in. i still live in the house i was born in too. i was away for a year, and never thought of charlie. when i came back i heard about a few neighbours who had passed away. i never thought of them either. the little boys i send so often to the spaza have not really grown. they still play soccer in the open playground at the back of my house. i used to play soccer there when i was a little boy too. i still send them to the local spaza. i am welcomed by merry-go-round whispering stories ─ no hugs ─ no high fives. no one knows why i was away for a year. all people want to know is when will i be going away again. i never pay attention to gossip but this time i want stories to write, so i listen. after a few hours i want a couple of tea bags and loose cigarettes and go out of the back yard to look for the boys. the boys are still playing soccer in the playground and charlie is sunbathing close to my house together with bra wonder and bra mandi. they are startled when they see me and i go to greet them briefly and call out to the boys who come running to me. they know what i want from them and are looking for the tips i always give. charlie, bra wonder and bra mandi are drinking ship sherry under the sun. the boys return and give me my tea bags and cigarettes. i give them a small tip and go back inside the house leaving the boys to their soccer. bra wonder had the same life experiences as charlie and bra mandi. they were all born in white location and have worked for a few companies in the city and played for the local soccer team and are now old. sometimes bra wonder is happy when he is drunk, or bra mandi. i never saw charlie happy.

from the book SKEPTICAL ERECTIONS / Deep South
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"Gray's Creek Poetic Pathos Slam Team"

“Our students reacted way better than we anticipated....Not only did our students participate and give us such profound spoken word pieces of their own, they came to me and demanded (nicely, of course) that we start our own slam team at our school. It is then that we not only created the first youth slam team in our county but sparked a movement in our school.

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What Sparks Poetry:
Dustin Pearson on Jillian Weise's "Beautiful Freak Show"


Up until encountering Jillian’s poetry, I’d more or less repressed or compartmentalized the emotions I felt as a result of my marginalization and always ultimately unsuccessful assimilation, both for fear of how dangerous I thought it was to indulge those emotions and out of societally formed habit. I found a way to misplace, overlook, or normalize horrible things, even if I always survived them."
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