Ingrid Jonker

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

(Wild) visible flowers –
It’s Gustav Mahler in June.
June is my birthday.

Signs of sunflowers –
Joop is a perfectionist.
I’m just obsessive.

Woolf to the lighthouse –
I don’t want to be unseen (anymore).
It is bone season.

With love, and squalor –
I am going mad again.
Shadows of your wings.

Mourning wind and rain –
The non-supportive members of the family.
Hate is a strong word.

My flesh longs for you –
Think of Moses in the wild.
The soul of a wo/man.

Red plum of a spoilt baby –
I think of you, and go mad.
Flush in each cheekbone.

So, I take the antidepressants –
They call me ‘mental’, ‘black sheep’.
Somehow, that calms me.

This seed, mad life roots –
They go deep, ninja warrior.
Gone-forever to the races.

Despair and hardship –
Photographs make me forget (the haters, the lovers)
The non-reality of pastor.

I long for the wild-and-wilderness –
I read-research-write pamphlets on wellness.
I repeat myself (odd).

This pull-and-push towards health –
Info on the hush of the-art-world (elephants stomping in the room).
Circles in the Knysna-woods.

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

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Ingrid Jonker

  1. paulstevenlaurencebrookes says:

    Reblogged this on LITERATI MAGAZINE.

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