by Annette Snyckers

Next to the dusty road you stand,
your friendly eyes crinkled
in the midday sun –
you open your mouth;
words clatter out like pebbles
in a fast-flowing stream –
sibilants hiss and splatter,
consonants clap.
I ask the way
and your finger points far
beyond the hills.

I listen,
but I hear only your voice
and the wind in the grass,
I look across the veld
but my eyes cannot follow
the way of your tongue –
I am lost
because I do not
understand what you say –
I am lost
in a land we both love.



by Michael Keeling

I wish I could remember
where we lay,
‘neath a veil of trees,
hair ruffled
by the breeze.

I wish I could remember
the vapour trail moving
arrow straight in the sky,
musing us
to days gone by.

I wish I could remember
distant bells,
the clamour of rooks,
and you buried under
a mountain of books.

I wish I could remember
walks on the beach,
talks in the park;
how we sat huddled
till long after dark.

I wish I could remember
music we played,
the lingering night
and falling asleep
in dawn’s shrouded light.

But the sorrows I’ve caused,
the expressions of pain
and the blood that I’ve let.
These are the things
I wish I could forget.