Nkuku, teach me

I just want to learn, Nkuku,
the way your bare palm lifts the hot pot lid,
the way you sweep the yard before the sun, the dust smelling of cold,
the way your gate stays open to the whole street.
You put a sweet in my palm, the way you do for everyone.

You stir the sorghum, smoke in my hair, our breath showing.
I ask you, and you answer without looking up:
“Ngwana yo o sa leleng o swela tharing.”
The child who does not cry dies in the sling.
The doves come down to eat from your hand.

So I cry, and I laugh, and I think: this is how it is done.
Then you ask, so kindly, o ngwana wa ga mang?
You have kept the proverb.
You have lost my name.

You put a sweet in my palm, the way you do for everyone.
I just wanted to learn how a soft heart lives in a hard world.
“Ke a leboga, mma.”