Just me, some Rooibos tea, and a quiet sunrise in Cape Town.
to the woman who taught me unconditional love,
despite our best intentions –
there was a moment.
before i gave myself up to you,
when i released the mortal chains
which held me to myself.
stripped myself bare and bared these teeth…
…bungee jumping seems an a propos metaphor
for the tumble i knew awaited me.
made a vow..
before it was ever to you, it was to myself
that this was something i would see to the end
whether i was the ship
or the iceberg
i would sink
come what may.
and so what can i do?
a vow is a vow.
Occasionally, I am reminded of
the anachrony of inspiration.
The vaguely humorous plight of
never knowing what will move me
I recall lovers out of order,
process trauma on its own schedule,
bleed ink in undulating stretches
of drought and reckless abandon.
It’s bingo night.
And the fix is far from in.
A volunteer casually rolls the cage
ready to call the rounds as they fall.
The currents suffer us no sympathies.
In mere moments of innocent neglect
the steady waters turn our course
to their capricious will.
North stars be damned.
I swear –
I could make it wherever
these best laid plans intended,
if it weren’t for this incessant drift.
I tend to better associate
with souls who wear
their sins on their sleeves.
Not hidden in the chambers of their hearts,
nor presented in metered phrase,
but written in muddled stains –
the remnants of tears and struggle.
Through waves of examination, ingrained
into the very threads of their being.
to live is to experience
to experience is to hurt
to hurt is to know
to know is to understand
to understand is to appreciate
to appreciate is to forgive
to forgive is to mend
to mend is to, at long last –
find some measure of peace.