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I am not that boy
There is a boy Who looks like me And takes my place at school. The teachers say He works so hard At breaking every rule. His tie is off His shirt is out His socks are not correct. The teachers say To dress that way Just shows his disrespect. His homework book When it appears Might as well be in Chinese. The teachers say He writes like that In order to displease. When at my desk He looks about From bird to cloud to tree. The teachers say His laziness Is quite extraordinary. It makes me sick To go to class Each day and feel afraid Because the boy Who…
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Hello shongololo
Well hello, big red shongololo You’ve been there so longololo! Curled upon a stone, so still Are you asleep, or dead, or ill? I think I’ll poke you with a stick It will not hurt, I will be quick Of course, if you should move, I’ll yell And drop you on the sand as well I do not mean to harm or kill I just want to know how you keep still You have so many more legs than me At least two hundred, maybe three My legs can’t rest so longololo How do you do it, shongololo? 2013 Photo description: A pastel drawing of a red shongololo curled up…
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Holding
Fraying fronds Unravelling strands Unthreading untwisting Grey-blonding unknotting Unseen strength of bonding Straining skeins, Disentwining, eroding Viscerally revealing The power of holding. December 2020 Photo description: A knot holds together two pieces of taut rope, stretched diagonally above a patch of river sand. The ropes are weatherworn. Their ends have come undone so that the knot is turning into a tangle of bleached thread
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Window
Kaleidoscopic sky. A world of light and water Livestreaming through my window Each waking moment a revelation Rearranging the pieces of my heart into happiness. February 2019 Photo description: Splashes of pink spill through dense blue cloud at dawn. A line of lavender follows the orange outline of cranes and container vessels. Reflected light shimmers on tranquil water. In the foreground, palm trees on the brink of becoming green. This view reminds me of the German law that all workplaces must have a window and I don’t ever want to go back to my office.
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Between
Looking up, I see infinite iterations And my heart is free to fill the sky. When I look down, I see a world made small by hate and fear, where I cannot move or touch. I will not share a photo of down. Down is your windowless room beside the railway and the endless earthquake of trucks. There is a world between us. But we both may hear the birds. Photo description: Twenty-two grey pigeons in scattered flight across a clear cobalt sky. Outstretched wings underlit against the dark arrows of their heads.
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Night tide
Glinting sinews stretch muscles tense, twist rippling sleek skin. Dark arms of the ocean writhe silently shoreward. February 2021 Photo description: Durban harbour at night. The tide is turning. Low black waves advance, rolling in light reflected from cranes and ships.
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Coconut
Sweet crystal sunrise Giant heart of sugar water Heavy on my thighs. January 2021 Photo description: A glimpse inside a green coconut. Wet fibres glint rose-gold, sparkle around the dark tunnel bored into the pulpy belly. Blue Lagoon beach, Durban
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Lantern
None of these neighbours knows How together, through their small choices Of a shade of paint, a tinted light bulb A TV screen, or a tiffany curtain They have turned my back-street view Into a lantern of urban life. February 2020 Photo description: Windows in an apartment block are illuminated at night, creating a grid of panels in pastel shades of green, blue, orange and purple.
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Thread
Why am I not content To be a fragile skein In the weave of the world? Even this severed one Rent in its noble cause Of mooring metal against stone. Why, slivered yet still twined In this vast coil, must I Clutch the deluded thought Of being the whole rope? 9 February 2020 Photo description: A close view of the plaited fibres that make up a mooring rope, roughly coiled against a harbour wall. Some of the strands are frayed and torn.
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Connected
I will walk in the harbour when the tide is out. Alongside the bait catchers With my children, perhaps with someone who loves me as much as they. I will watch ships pass within metres of our muddy feet and stand connected to the world through water. 27 April 2018 Photo description: An empty cargo ship leaves Durban harbour. Two tugs cling to the side of the vessel, escorting it through the narrow channel. They are dwarfed by its red and black bulk and framed in the reflection of its yellow cranes. In the foreground, tiny stick figures stroll across the shimmering sandbank at low tide, looking for bait. Palm…
