To build a home

Like books. We’re stacked one on top of another

Each with a story we’ve been meaning to read

But just haven’t the time.

Three thousand bodies carried by concrete
that hum to the music of its giant flute

And along with birds wings

Dogs barking

Zionists

And spinning rubber across the bloodstained spine of Slovo. 

I don’t know if it’s going to rain today

But the patter of small feet trickling down the staircase

Tells me that everything will grow despite.

Its purple across Joburg.

My words tremble with the thought of year-end already.

But I can’t feel it.

Because my body hovers -

Somewhere between the sky and its South African ground

So I open the window and try connect.

Of all the apartments I see, I wonder

If we really are

That far apart.

A pregnant woman walks into a mouldy rented room.

He kicked for the fourth time that day – but this time it was followed by a sharp pain that shot down my spine and into the back of my knee. I bent over slightly, relieving myself of the discomfort and noticing something decidedly squashed beneath my peach pump. I heaved down onto the bed and reached for it – the wrinkled paper took its time to part with my shoe as it was fastened by the elastic minty unease of a piece of gum. I looked around the room to check for more littered surprises but all that tired sun could find for me was a dampened dark spot on the carpet just near the doorway. I took a deep breath in as he kicked again. A vile fusion of instant smash, toilet spray and moth balls painted the air – I was craving rocks again. Avoiding the gum I opened the paper – it was a till slip.  R25 Cream donuts.  R34 Malboro gold. R40 Dulex tender play. R 15 Bath sponge. R60 Chef Dinkleys kitchen knife.

I felt like I needed to look around the room one more time in case I was missing something. But the room said nothing. It just stared back at me – unblinking - like the hole in the gate at the bottom of the garden. Oh god – I touched my belly. Is this what he really wanted for me?

Toward

It was morning. He stepped forward into the forest. Heart beating. Breathless -  ready for another sprint, knowing this time he would beat it. Stopwatch set, he leapt forward into the quiet excitement of dawn.

Gasping for air his eyes shot open and felt the weight of his aged body outlined by the gravity that had held him through the night. A dark blur of sleep had him sit up. It was morning but his alarm blinked 12.32 - it was broken again.

He had always wanted to live in the mountains. The altitude and perspective provided him with space and concentration to focus more clearly on what he loved most.

He shuffled through dust particles in peaceful decent towards the floor. The ominous body of a giant grandfather clock towered above him with a pendulum that swung as if it the weight of the world in its meter. It was 10.58. The clock in his hand was definitely wrong.

The forest was a blur and if it weren’t for the crack of a distant tree branch the forest would also be silent. He forced himself forward – his body in time against time. 

He cleared a space amidst the clutter, the cogs, the batteries and pins and angled the light of a nearby lamp towards his operating table. Committed to surgery he opened the back of the clock and set to work.

Remembering the golden orb of time that hung from his father’s pocket and its graceful demand of his attention whenever he came to visit made it his best kept article of worth. He made sure he travelled with it, polished it and checked it whenever he could.

Just a little further. He could do it. It was 10.58 and counting. Never mind the pain.

The pain leapt through his left arm and made him groan. This had happened to him before and knew that fresh air would calm him. He stumbled across the lounge toward the front door – his mind set on the forest, on the edge of the garden and it’s expanse.  

At the highest point of the trail one can see the ocean on a clear day. Today was a clear day. He smiled. He had caught sight of the end.

But to his surprise he wasn’t alone. Another figure stood there too. It looked tired. Old. Familiar. On approach the figure collapsed. Frantic – deliberate, he shook his father and leaned closer - his breathlessness against his breathlessness. Eye contact. A small murmer.

“Just in time” he said - and then closed his eyes forever.

Lakes in the city

Heritage Day reflections.