By Amantle Gabolekwe You’re 10 minutes old and I am exhausted. The midwife places you on my chest and steps back to continue tending to me. put my hands on you, one on your back, one cupped under your head, because that's what you're supposed to do. I've seen it in films. I hold the... Continue Reading →
By Amantle Gabolekwe You hate me. Which is tragic, because Gladys and your mother already decided you’re my therapist. Not officially, that would be a boring man named Dr. Matsheka, who runs group sessions at my university where the posters read Wellness is a Journey. Never mind that you’re only an undergraduate student in sociology... Continue Reading →
Petlwana Journal of Creative Literature and the Arts 