Resources for Loss

Three Poems, contributed by Rodrick Shumba (2025)

I chose these because I deeply connected with the authors through them and found comfort in the words. I picked “Kissing in Vietnamese” because it reminded me about my childhood when my grandparents would tell me and other grandchildren stories from the liberation struggle, or ‘Chimurenga,’ when Zimbabweans were fighting for independence from the British. The stories were quite graphic and, most of the time, difficult to listen to, from the sufferings in colonial labor to the horrors of war. Even though my grandparents were subject to some rough experiences during colonization, they always emphasized how they would always pick peace over anything—because, to them, the war took more than independence would ever get for them. 
Kissing in Vietnamese
by Ocean Vuong

My grandmother kisses
as if bombs are bursting in the backyard,
where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes
through the kitchen window,
as if somewhere, a body is falling apart
and flames are making their way back
through the intricacies of a young boy’s thigh,
as if to walk out the door, your torso
would dance from exit wounds.
When my grandmother kisses, there would be
no flashy smooching, no western music
of pursed lips, she kisses as if to breathe
you inside her, nose pressed to cheek
so that your scent is relearned
and your sweat pearls into drops of gold
inside her lungs, as if while she holds you
death also, is clutching your wrist.
My grandmother kisses as if history
never ended, as if somewhere
a body is still
falling apart.

As an international student for the past almost four years, I deeply resonate with “Solstice Re-pot,” especially with the interpretation that, even though I know I moved for the better, it still does not discount the pain of leaving home and the yearning for it when I’m in the US.
Solstice Re-pot 
by Shailja Patel 

more than the obvious metaphor
of depth for roots to fully extend
of leaves elevated to eat blue light
of fingers smooshing generative dirt

it’s when I hear myself sing to you
crassula ovata, as I upheave you
croon ballads as I displace you
shawl melody around earthquake 

as if to say to your bright fat leaves
nothing is promised, sweet green girl
I know the terror of unhoming
dance this one with me

I picked “The Opposite of Abandonment” mostly for comfort. I lost some aunts and my maternal grandmother between 2010 and now, and oftentimes when I reminisce about their everlasting marks on my life, I find some comfort in the author’s reluctance to let go and, as I look at the crosswords, some reassurance that I was not being stubborn when I clung onto some of the gifts they gave me before they passed, or tried to preserve their memories by writing about them.  
The Opposite of Abandonment  by Alexis Aceves Garcia is a multimedia poem, the format of which is not supported on this platform. It can be found here: https://poets.org/poem/opposite-abandonment 

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