deep shadow purpleand heavy with dewi pick morning violets, small water orbspetal cuppedrefracting silver and spring, held by the sweet scentof every lifetime spentwet-kneed in the morning,picking quiet violetsforest edge it is a lonely soundthe distant hollow thudof the gravediggers spadeforest edgein the morningbut deathhas always beenlonely –unwanted, unsummonedunexpectedeven when it isinevitable yesterday old brannon-ponydied…
we knew it would rain waking almost morningopening the doorstepping out half darkhoping for the last of night coolon my skin, but insteadthe world breathed warmalive with misttoo close for stars we knew it would rainwhen day came and mistpulled thin across the skyuntil the sun singedthe unravelling edgesof the world and wewaded through the…
almost summer nowand days stretch, longerevenings gold and thick withlife open like a window in time – sunstained by berriesrasp and young, goose and strawi find myself, last light, in the gardenwith wattle and string in hand,scissors precarious in pocket, (and it is hard not to be in love herewith this soil this place this…
a first songa clapping gameon a father’s knee –lindi-ann is no goodchop her up for fire woodwhen she’s deadwe’ll bake her headinto ginger bread.-words shape uswhen our tonguesare still learningto shape the world. there were days in betweenperhaps years, when nasturtium leaveswere tall shade on damp spring morningstheir parasols shining wordlessveining cathedral glassagainst the blueness…
i offer no illusionlast night the hen house was raided.opened the door to a mess offeathers and blood this morning,all of them gone. nothing of the spotted hen but her liverlicked clean on some star splashed quills.the rooster dead and whole in the middle of it all,too big to be carried into the night. and…
there is a cottageat the edgeof the woodsin it lives a womana woman a woman,more.it lives in womenthe cottageat the edgeof the woods. the herbs that hang from the raftersbunches of mpephu and nettleand tulsi, the roses that growa blood thorned tangleswoon sweet andspread on october cloths to dry,the bottled elder turnedby the light of…
1.i had not meant toflush diederik cuckoo fromthe mulberry tree, first light just bird called a songi had not heard closeand loud before. but he came emerald wingsflashing in early sunlanded bright closeon the blossom peachlooked at meeach as startled as the other 2.mid october when you biteinto first peach of the season(even when it…
1.saturday early and the chickensare singing up a stormold women on wooden pewsthin church voices vining the rafters,soon it will be day enoughto open their doorscatter the grain –leave themto their bustling and scratchingbefore the rain. 2.in knysna the roadsare crammed with touristsescapees from the cityseeking holy days and silencebecoming the noise they left behind…
restless to the sound of saw and chipperclearing deadwood around the houseahead of the fire seasoni cut my hair sewing scissorsin the bathroom mirror.long dark strands on the floor. in the quiet of eveningbeyond the sawsi buried it forest litteramongst the roots of tree.muttering prayers and promisesi hope to keep despite the slow creepof city…