Antjie Krog
it’s when I’m away from you
that I’m suddenly overwhelmed
by a fear: what would my life
be like without you?
because suddenly I see you from a distance
how not at home you
go your own precise, inconspicuous way
with your silver ponytail down your back
and know how my whole life long
I’ve been able to depend on you
on your judgement
your stubborn moral compass
your unyielding empathy
your inflexible understanding and respect for me
your X-ray insight into my deepest decay
your brusque language
your soft heart your hard tongue
and that from wherever to whatever
I can always and always
come back to you
and that you’ll be glad to see me
I know also that inside
you’re filled with worry and stress
your powerlessness that you keep to yourself
and that sometimes, when you’re alone, you think
that I never loved you enough…
that I chose you as a refuge
and not as the consummation of fiery love
I embrace you through all the barriers of the poem
I have no patience with such spiteful slurs
I refuse to mine for arguments and proofs against them
I only know that the mere thought of you somewhere in the house
sooths my inflamed skin
let’s lie together and hold each other tight
and think intensely of this: we still have each other
how precious it is
that no disaster has struck us yet
that our bodies lie here together
old but wonderfully intact
I can lift my hand and cup your trusted cheek
I can close my eyes here against your chest
Your palm with its familiar nails
And beloved fingers around my shoulder
I can utter a word from the depths of myself
and your translucent inner self will answer me
we still have each other undamaged
let’s close our eyes and not look ahead
not burden ourselves with apprehensions of loss
not think of who will go first
not use the word surviving
the loneliness of it
let our thoughts not linger there
let us lie together, our bodies still raised above death
(Published in Pillage, NB Publishers, 2022)
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 1 November 2022
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