Mama and I are gossiping Ms. Kairu over sizzling onions,

She spits in the sink when I recreate the Church scene: yellow thighs slightly parted in the front pew culminating in black knees,

I do not mention the Pastor’s gaze,
She does not have to but she points out the irony in her name,

By the time the sun has shifted, a slew of names have been formed and uttered,
I cringe at husband snatcher,

She pretends to be sore from her betrayal, says how someone can want to be someone else so bad,

I watch her throw back her long silky weave.