Erika Coetzee

No pin here, a scalpel is needed –
the silent, exquisite, suffocating depths.
Every crevice and dark rock shadow hides
the gentle unfolding of a sea anemone.
Glynis van Rooyen

Unfolding glosa, with thanks to Glynis

The debris has lodged 
(thorn, dirt, splinter, glass)
a thousand and one small grooves
Over sharp edges, rough angles
skin hardens, shielding intruders
No pin here, a scalpel is needed.

It is she who gathers sadnesses like teaspoons –
departures, doubts and destructions
love’s precarious arrangements
all the rooms in heartbreak hotel
tragic tales with devastating endings:
the silent, exquisite, suffocating depths.

It is he who side-steps cracks between paving stones –
invisible fault lines, hair-thin avoidances
denied disappointments, makeshift repairs
all the fractional patch-up jobs
smooth cement over rising damp. Still,  
every crevice and dark rock shadow hides

the deep dive that was their togethernessing
the soft strokes of their once-upon-a-times
fond familiars (wrapped in water blankets)
joy swimming in matching concurrents of then – 
when they still lingered in surprise pools to mind
the gentle unfolding of a sea anemone.

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