The morning
(for Johannesburg, the love of my life)

    I give you a large cup (always a large
    cup) of tears to drink. A cup as large as
    the River Euphrates. Your bloodless face,
    swaying hips inspire. I half-existed (then)
    in my depression to love you (then). I’ve
    captured your light in my hands, this rut of the twisted essence
of touch, of
    smile, of grief, of childhood motivation,
    abandonment issues, of contribution to
    the revolution-house. I remember how it felt to hold you.
I remember how it felt to be in your arms. I felt dainty and sweet
    and loved. It’s never left me even after all these years. I think
of your warm hands
on my body And, how this still excites me. Pavements are enchanting and wet.
    Surfaces with their concrete minds slick.
    I don’t tell myself anymore that I need love
    like a magnet. Once I loved men, powerful men
    and I wanted to stay there forever. Once I
    fell in love with women and wanted to stay
there forever, (women were powerful too in my life) and discovered in
my short life
    that there’s really no difference between a
    powerful man and a powerful woman. One
    day I won’t be able to write anymore. Dad,
    elderly, can’t write anymore. Shuffles when
    he walks. One day I’ll shuffle when I walk.
    When I think of you, I think of the things
    that I love now. Swimming laps in the local
    swimming pool. My cloud-heavy nephew
    who I would give my life for. I know what
    love is now. I can even forgive my mother
    when she becomes irate. Vitriolic. Belligerent.
    Sad. I think of the days of the love that I
    had for you. I think of the city that I found
    myself in (in my twenties). You took away
    my sadness. I think of my youth. Then my early
    twenties. Reading novels like Couples and
    Disgrace. Reading Gillian Slovo. Watching
    films like The English Patient and Lolita.
    Think to myself of going from therapist to
    therapist in my twenties. Think to myself,
    thank God, I am more comfortable in my skin
    than I’ve ever been nearing forty. I think
    I know something about the science of love
    now. Emotionally I’m much more mature.
    Surer of myself. Life, well, is no longer about
    stepping aside for ego. I’ll never love again.
    I know this and I’ve made my peace with
that. I think of you and I know I’ll never love again. Think of when I
was in your
    arms and how I wanted to stay there forever.

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Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!