Eating a naartjie

Brian Walter

Forget the apple – the pristine fruit

of paradise was so clearly the citrus

that Botticelli’s Primavera shows.

In nature’s allegory, there, you’ll see

evergreen citrus leaves that signify

triumph over time. Defying seasons,

the trees have chaste white flowers

alongside a crop gilt with orange.

Now I break the soft citrus skin

and naartjie segments fall to hand

with ease, as in the Golden Age,

till you beguile my thoughts:

“Can’t you give me just one housie?”

Your old South End language,

the child-talk of the streets,

wafts me back to the old homes

and the folk: the flotsam of people

drifted in from both sea and land,

naturally blending cultures,

their gods laughing like neighbours

– till leprous apartheid whiteness

tore it all down, house by house.

I look at the naartjie segment,

your sweet housie, hand it to you –

just a moment’s paradise,

a brief taste of timelessness,

a housie of peace

in this hard world of men.

Featured on 4 February 2021