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
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