New Poetry by Abigail George

Burnt seed

(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)

I have made mistakes in my life. I’m still paying
for them with half-malice and delight. How cold

    the stars. The heroic damsel in distress. Abyss
found in dementia. Abyss found in Dominica.

Stars are cold in winter. In summer they begin to warm up.
Show their true selves. Goodbye my eyes, my swimming

    limbs. Let me count the grains of sand with my hands.
Let me travel slow then hard and fast in this country. Let

me moan about the unfairness of it all. Look here at
this surface of flame showing off daylight. Flames

licking at desire. Look at this earth-dream that once
belonged to the river and then the ocean depth of it.

I think of the lungs of London. The slow and deliberate
inhale and exhale. The busy Amazon structure to it.

Dambudzo Marechera liked sex once. His body (shimmered) like a leaf.
His mind a sweet, sweet, sweet journey of shades.

I’m ecstatic about the seed he sowed. The uncommon leader
he was. His anointing. Now, let me count the grains of sand

on this land called Zimbabwe. Ask why the sea.
Kindness is a seed. Obedience is a seed. Power is
        
a seed with hope and expectation. The theory of
love speaks to me in Technicolor waves. The spirits

of this place needs us just as much as we need them.
Love speaks to me. That theory of falling in love.

You were a careless mistake. The earth moves (inside of me)
like a woman now. Chirping birds gravitating towards

the warm ochre earth. This amount of love. The eternal
song in his river teeth. I know where they are right now.

In the context of heaven. They’re found in the paradise
for the lonely. Let us admire this coastal view. Pond life

I’m addicted to poems and funerals, roses and cacti.  I can
love you. I can harm you. I can’t promise you I won’t.


- Abigail George 2019

South African Abigail George is a full-time poet. She has lived in the Northern Areas of Port Elizabeth for most of her life. She was born in 1979.