There are things a train can’t do:
bomb homes, for example, or cry
but sturdy axles and merciful wheels
know how to pull grief across borders,
how to stop at platforms where hands hold out tea,
where cardboard signs offer lifts to the city,
and where babies, their eyes wide with history’s ink,
can watch a train cry.
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 21 March 2022
Phelelani Makhanya There is a little yellow house at the corner of the street, where the jacaranda has painted the paving purple. Every...
Basil du Toit The rude vegetables are up to no good again, succumbing to irresistible inflations, their growth-tips, tautly congested,...
Ari Sitas After a day of stoning and gas an ancient chore beckons by the ocean’s lip - a crowd heaving, heaving, sifting through the sand...
Comments