6 October 2019

In my house, a poem by Rethabile Masilo

Here is why in my house
when recesses are present
and windows are open
to the silence of outside,
there is always
in each corner of the rooms
the company of forebears—one,
in the form of a keystone,
carries children in its arms
and walks with a limp
to avoid fuel lamp flames
igniting its dress;
another, a foundation,
is quiet except to grunt
when there’s no light
and rain refuses to fall,
to water saplings
planted outside the years.
Beyond the reasons
for sorrow is a truth
of life lived well.
Above a window
a boy waits, bow and arrow
in his hands. When noise
finally comes from the street
memory closes eyes,
for dusk,
which is when I go through
each room, touching corners
with my fingertips, seeking
sore spots and lacerations.

Ha Ratšoanyane

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