Erica Coetzee

I never knew I loved sticks.
I thought of them straight and cutting, like schoolmasters.
But sticks can be mottled and gnarled,
even more beautiful than old people –
irregular, and useful in a way of sturdiness.
They make a shape out of longing, and sometimes
I have to wonder if they miss their trees.

 I never knew I loved breathing,
except for Anne’s ‘three conscious breaths’, of course.
I’ve come to realise, though, you’ve got to love the other ones too.
The way they pass quietly down the corridors of your life –
just doing their jobs, without any rewards.
They make a living out of thin air; and maybe they get miffed
having to carry on so underappreciated.

I never knew I loved drops
In my recollection, they always gathered in stains.
But drops can be valiant, pot-bellied revolutionaries –
the way they hold out against the forces of gravity.
Every laugh is a drop, resisting before it falls.
They make tiny surprises out of plunging, so I’ve decided to collect them.
I don’t want to end up with a sad and empty bucket.

 

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By monthliesblog Posted in Uncategorized

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