MA WILL BE LATE

that I come back to you
tired and without memory
that the kitchen door is open I

shuffle in with suitcases hurriedly bought presents
my family’s distressed dreams
slink down the corridor the windows stained

with their abandoned language in the hard
bathroom light I brush my teeth
put a pill on my tongue: Thur

that I walk past where my daughter sleeps
her sheet neatly folded beneath her chin
on the dressing table silkworms rear in gold

that I can pass my sons
frowning like fists against their pillows
their restless undertones bruise the room

that I can rummage a nightie from the drawer
slip into the dark slit behind your back
that the warmth flows across to me

makes me neither poet nor human
in the ambush of breath
I die into woman

ma sal laat wees

ma sal laat wees

dat ek na julle toe terugkom
moeg en sonder herinnering
dat die kombuisdeur oop is ek

inskuifel met tasse haastige presente
in die gange sluip rond my gesin
se verdrieteige drome ruite aangepak

van hulle verlate taal in die harde
badkamerlig borsel ek my tande
druk ‘n pilletjie op my tong: Do.

dat ek verbyloop waar my dogter slaap
haar lakens netjies geplat onder haar ken
op die spieëltafel steier sywurms in goud getoom

dat ek my seuns verby kan kom
fronsend teen kussings aangevuis
hul onrugstige ondertone kneus deur die kamer

dat ek ‘n naghemp vroetel uit die laai
inglip in die donker skreef agter jou rug
dat die warmte na my oorvloei

maak my nog digter nog mens
in die hinderlaag van asem
sneuwel ek tot vrou.