Danie Marais | New Eyes
Love is not a doctor,
it’s deep narcosis –
nature’s very own date-rape drug –
and it was only years later that you and I
came to in a small semi-detached in Woodstock
at a yellow kitchen table with a cockroach
caught in the digital clock
of the new microwave, and a blowfly
banging its banging its banging its head against
the kitchen window pane.
You were scraping butter
onto your toast, and I could not
believe I had never noticed
the gaping black Mommy
hole sucking away in your chest.
I kept staring.
It was an hypnotic, singing sound –
You looked up and smiled, like stitches
You were the spitting image of my wife.
In the room a baby daughter began crying
Originally published in Afrikaans in Solank verlange die sweep swaai, Tafelberg. The English translation appeared in in a burning sea.