For a Change

Annette Snyckers

My anger is too much a lady

she does not shout

she sits in the corner and sulks.

I want to shake her, drag her out,

bring her into the light.

I want her to pummel her fists

on the table, make a noise,

I want her to wear lipstick

the colour of ripe plums

and dark roses

I want her to wear heels

and stamp her feet

I want her to be

a bitch –

but she will not oblige.

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow Zoom launch of The Only Magic We Know: Selected Modjaji Poems 2004-2020 on 31 March 2022

Beyond Touch

Arja Salafranca

There are intimacies beyond touch,

I am learning.

There are intimacies that reach beyond trust.

I am trying to remember the lesson

as I lean my face into the softness of your smooth neck,

and feel you pulling back

into the responsibilities of your life.

Instead we talk,

about parents, my mother’s failing eyesight,

and solutions that will appear,

even if we have no idea how.

Of babies, adoption, hot December nights,

a future that mirages into the present.

I try to claim them, lay a stake for the future.

As I hold you goodbye, we kiss lightly on the lips.

And I’m gone, trying to hold you,

hold your words, your thoughts, your face

as the tyres slip past you,

On, onward, your face in its various poses,

distracted, wise, thoughtful, worried

nesting somewhere in me.

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow Zoom launch of The Only Magic We Know: Selected Modjaji Poems 2004-2020 on 31 March 2022

We Who Are Not Angels

Keith Gottschalk

we who are not angels

nor born with wings

nor tithe of virtue for ascent to heaven

we had only slide rules, now software

we, who turn equation into turbopump

who craft metal to take flight

we who gave birth to the impossible

a pulse of fire soaring

a glint of light.

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 24 March 2022