In the Orthopeadic Ward

Jacques Coetzee

I brought so much here with me today,

so much I wanted to put down

as I walked into this hospital to find you:

the invisible wounds I carried,

and the way I’d invested in them

in order to be right about something, anything;

whatever I know about negotiating

for power or leverage;

the necessary ways of listening

suspiciously, learned from Marx and Freud and Nietzsche

and their beautiful, high-minded children;

the swaggering confidence that comes

from being the new thing, the bright, beautiful stranger

with the golden key that can unlock the castle—

that, that most of all.

Ah, but you know as well as I do

that you can’t put down your past or your learning,

can’t put down anything much at all.

And even so, I walked into the room

feeling lighter, estranged from my voice;

strange enough not to know

what to say, how to hold you.

And all I remember clearly of that visit

is the astonishment I felt—

my one hand gently holding your bionic knee,

humming James Brown to you under my breath,

slightly breathless, slightly out of tune:

“I feel good,

And I knew that I would.”

Featured on 15 April 2021

Paperver Somniferum (Miss You)

Maneo Mohale

of course I do. let it be

known that I store each one

of your gestures in that glassy part

of the morning, just here

until they wither. your finger pearled

in the soft oyster of my mouth.

your misshapen pulse. the secret

of its name in some grey-sheeted dark

tender one: what is a body but a vase?

let it be known

that I spent this time missing you:

each one.

originally published on Expound

Featured on 18 March 2021

Old Man Bhamjee

Saaleha Idrees Bamjee

Papa passed away so fast

I only found my tears at the funeral.

That old man was too cool.

You should've seen the pictures

like some David Carradine in the dust

Wild Bill Hickock with a soccer ball

that Bhamjee could shoot.

And on big nights and holy days

when every good Muslim

asks everyone for forgiveness

Papa would say “agh it’s alright”.

He live full and he lived quick

a heart beat to the pace of a winning horse

a thousand devils’ hooves on his tongue

like when he met that niqabi aunty

told the whole room they went way back

used to jive-jive at Chez Gay

Of course no one could see her blush.

Ah Papa, I see you now

waiting for the reckoning

and it’s going to be fine

because Allah’s going to say

“agh Bhamjee, it’s alright.”

Featured on 25 March 2021