Because a ghost was in my blood
I can feel the rain even
when I close my eyes.
Taste it in my mouth. Here’s the fabulous
ambitious sun. A warning to
all who dream of living
and making it good in
the big city. The land is
black at night. It haunts.
It haunts. Filled with shadows
and light and despair. I
face beating fears in the
moonlight’s rural country.
The haunting abandonment of
touch scores my personality in
some indefinable way. The
discipline and source of silence
marks me like death.
Faith can break you.
Transform the fire in your heart.
The compass that I
hold in my hand helps
me navigate my passage
north. The constant heat
of the day shining for
all of its worth in all its
silken slumber. Liberty
is master. Proof is mistress.
I find pleasure in my
mother’s garden. The sun glides
across my spirit. Winged sphere
and harmless burn. The sports of
earth. My grief is published here on the page.
Grief, I don’t want to
forget you. Your triumph fierce. The sea is made up of
the vibrations of a
purple light. Tide and current washed
up on the shore.
You’re a shadow of a
telephone pole. All things lovely beating down my door.
The foam blooms a white kind of spray.
Mankind’s soul is a faithful progress.
She has a starling mouth. The lips of a mermaid.
I can still taste the rain in my mouth.
- Abigail George 2017
Abigail George fiction was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She briefly studied film and television production at Newtown Film and Television School opposite the Market Theatre in Johannesburg. She is the writer of Africa Where Art Thou (2011), Feeding the Beasts (2012), All About My Mother (2012), Winter in Johannesburg (2014), Brother Wolf and Sister Wren (2015), and Sleeping Under the Kitchen Tables in the Northern Areas (2016). Her poetry has been widely published in anthologies, in print in South Africa, and in zines from Nigeria to Finland, and New Delhi, India to Istanbul, Turkey. She lives, works, and is inspired by the people of the Eastern Cape, South Africa.
No comments:
Post a Comment