from qoaling to grootvlei
by lantern light we snuffed out
when sound leapt at us
(or seemed to leap
as it does when the wind heaves forth)
we left, travelling the terrain wintered with contempt,
ears tuned for the sound of foot, boot, the snap
of dog on our tail.
beasts are oblivious to this, to
things that knot us, questing always for acceptance
surviving the dark.
I believe in the only spirit, the faces
of people who’ve walked this way.
as for us, we
held our lantern and crossed the river into azania,
knowing the order of the cycle:
winter turns to spring,
dead leaves make russet apple cheeks,
kernels keep internal life.
© Rethabile Masilo