Antjie Krog

(for my mother, sister, brother, and father)

Air. Heir can’t be cured –
I’m bee farmer caught stealing.
Hospitality.

Swallows flit in the air –
Only the houndish-rain can cure me.
The don’t know regret.

The nature of green –
They don’t know the dishes are-waiting.
You keep telling me.

Hours pass in nothings –
Or home. Or harm. Only song.
The other side telling.

I said that just now –
My sister cut her hair. Narrative-repeated.
Looking through a lens.

I can’t leave the house –
Because I’m afraid that people are laughing (at me).
Branches reach for me.

I dream of healing –
But it’s just a mapped out taproot.
I saw a wo/man.

Called tongue slippage –
Blue night is coming for me.
Yonder it is dark.

Hoping for applause –
Wild seabirds don’t hope for that.
For sonnets, marriage.

My room with a view –
It’s also my prison with-a-view.
Woolf can’t be trusted.

Left me for wide-eyed dead –
My love killed me with one shot.
Raised his rifle wide.

Swum like an otter –
Needed the energy in-my-body.
The stars were needles.

My blood was in tubes –
To test thyroid functioning.
Nurse, leave me alone.

Abigail George is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominated South African essayist, poet, short story writer, and novelist.

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