My heart is in pieces,
tiny and huge,
my love is tucked away,
in moving boxes,
in brittle, yellow photo frames,
a folded note inside
Gramps Bible – a shopping list –
a jar of ash and bits of bone,
sweet Coke, dear daschund
winking at me,
wagging his tail.
I remember the love
wrapped in hugs
and morning cuddles
the laughter,
that made my ribs hurt,
the anger,
that made me infinitely tired
the food
laid out at braais
boerie and sarmies,
the music,
soundtrack to my daydreams
the Snow Goose
crackling on the turntable
as I wept and didn’t understand why,
the play,
as we splish splashed Marco Polo
in the pool,
the flavors of
wide watermelon smiles
that tasted of summer,
juice, that sticks
to my fingers and memory
forever.
I remember
tender hands,
cutting the white off my egg;
saved me from the yolk.
I remember
the voice tucking me up
in my bed with wild stories,
of people who lived inside trees.
I remember the singing,
the roar of the vacuum,
a murmur in Xhosa,
a hug, my darling.
I remember giggling
my brothers racing racing
always moving fast,
laughing, laughing mostly.
I’ve been trying to write an ending,
happily ever after
even though I know it’s
a fairytale but,
I hope it all the same.
I swaddle myself in expectation,
I refuse to surrender
to anything less than love
as I unpack the treasures,
tucked away forgotten,
until I smell paw paw
or syringa blossom
in September in Joburg
my remembering
my forgetting
a chapter done and dusted,
a new one begun.
Tabula rasa,
the empty page before me,
my love is tucked away
in my spirit’s
quiet and hidden valleys
as I sit on the peak
so high,
I can feel the infinite.
Carol lives in a seaside town, loves to drink coffee, daydream and write poetry.