Annaleen Erasmus

expecting
hysterectomy
bones to pick
aches and pains
and they happen every day

2.

memories
days before dying
no grudges
all around
the miraculous process
to open our eyes

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Annaleen Erasmus

Pine trees are always green –
staunchly retaining their colour
season in, season out.

There is a breeze, cooling hot cheeks,
tentative, apologetic –
quivering in silver beeches.
Gentle movement of leaves
transforms them to massive mobiles

Wide-winged swallows and swifts
are carried across the skyline

BUT THEN

Hear it, feel it, smell it:
Torrents of flame chased by fury.

Annaleen Erasmus

The hitch hikers

It was after the finals.  I had to get to Cape Town from Stellenbosch to finalise my job for 1957.

Jean, my roommate, had been weeping into her pillow for three days about the loss of Wilfred Dicker.  She thought they were a couple, and the shock when he appeared, entwined with a blonde!

So on day three of weeping, she wiped her eyes, dried her tears, and said she was joining me to Cape Town.  But let’s be adventurous.  Let’s hitch hike.

That was an offence that could get you expelled.  For girl students, in 1956.

But what the hell – we’re out of here in ten days anyway.

So beyond the station on the side of the road we take our stand and thumb our lift.

A rather prissy lady stops.  She is somewhat shocked at our behaviour.

“What are two nice girls like you doing hitch hiking?”

I start explaining when Jean interrupts, “We’re trying to pick up a man,” she says.

Tight-lipped response from prissy lady and off she goes.  Leaving us high and dry.

“Maybe we should have gone with her,” I start, when a fairly tired looking car passes us, stops and reverses.  Behind the wheel is a shady looking character.  Young enough.  But oily, stringy hair and dirty fingernails tell the story.

I am ready to decline when Jean jumps in.  “Kom, Kam.  We were looking for adventure, remember?” I sit at the back,  with my white stiletto-heeled shoe in my hand, ready to bash him if necessary.  His name is Jerry.

“We are sisters,” Jean tells him. “I am Sannie and she is Annie.  Annie, isn’t it wonderful to have a MAN around again?”

“Don’t you two have boy friends?” Jerry asks.

“Well, when the boy friends find out about our father, they stop coming.”

“What about him?”

“Hy’t ‘n siekte, jy weet?”

Jerry hurriedly opens the window on his side, probably to blow out any lingering germs.

“En wat doen julle?”

“Ons woon in Goodwood, en ons werk op die Kaapse stasie.  Albei van ons.  Annie verkoop die magazines, ek is by die ice cream.”

Meanwhile we’re getting closer to Cape Town.  We need to be in Rondebosch, but next thing we know, we’re in Salt River, stopping outside a seedy block of flats.

Jerry informs us that he is just going to fetch his “mate”, so that we could each have a boy friend for the evening.

Now we panic.  This area is dicey – we don’t quite know our way out.

Fortunately for us, “mate” is not home.

We come clean – we are really almost teachers and we’re having a bit of fun before entering the adult world.

The shock and hurt on Jerry’s face remains with me.  Maybe we did a little growing up that day?

Annaleen Erasmus

Annaleen Erasmus

reparation 1
 
the unchosen one
on the school playing field
feeling unworthy
your insides are paralysed
fountain of giving dried up
 
the welcoming smile
the outstretched arms and the hug
when you were hovering
uncertainly, on the edge,
deserving nothing at all
 

reparation 2
 
 
Papa comes in my summer dream.
 
He is wearing the jacket I remember so well. The colour, the smell, the texture.
 
I am the little girl again.
 
He picks me up, seats me on his lap, strokes my hair.  I rub my cheek against the woollen fabric of the tan jacket.
 
And he tells me what remorse he has.  For injustices done, for love unexpressed, for the cruellest of possible abandonments.
 
“I was suffering too much, too much.  The fog of depression was enfolding me ever more stiflingly.  There was no other way out.”
 
I sit and wait in wonder.  I cherish this dreaming moment.  

“But you – you go forth and be blessed, my beautiful daughter.  And live your life victoriously.”

Annaleen Erasmus

The river feeds the endless ocean with words;
Words hatch from silence’s mouth and fly free –
Shake water from their skin, a quick shudder,
And fly free to search, question, whisper.
Karin Anderson

 
 
Words finding meaning
  
Words, billions of words
from every age of man’s speaking,
all ending up in an ocean
making it fuller.
Too full?
But the ocean is endless –
The river feeds the endless ocean with words.
 
Silence is deceptive:
it seems empty, unproductive.
But not in this ocean.
Words hatch from silence’s mouth and fly free.
 
With verve they separate themselves,
letting go of the amorphous mass;
becoming each its own –
shaking water from their skin, a quick shudder.
 
A separate entity, every one –
darting into action;
each fulfilling its mission
Flying free to search, question, whisper.