Monday, 25 January 2016

A poem in Afrikaans by Wilma Stockenström


Now that I’m starting to get brittler
I no longer know as well
just how I feel, where I belong.
The sun burns my shoulder knobs
brown like the round crusts of rusks.
I was such a juicy child!
No less than eighty per cent water
arranged round a skeleton
equipped with quite a few hinges
so I could walk the earth,
full of wonder touch others
put together like me: water
water water water water and.

For the original, and the poet reading it, go to here.

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