That place I've been looking for,
always thinking
it was one
​when it was
many
&
I never knew.

​I thought,
being one,
that I would have only
one
​home. 

​But they are many & all in me
​before I get there.

Being home is having
the homes
inside me,
also around me.

for Stuttgart

Homing me,
drawing me in.
Painting me on you.
Looking you inside out &
​(re-) catching my breath at you

​greeting me:
Standing there too.
Rising to meet me
coming fast up the stairs &
throwing me onto your streets.

Opening me first, you're
talking to me,
walking all through
me running up to your houses &
​(re-) finding your spectaculars ...

Warming me
laughing at you &
​letting me know you.
Smiling slowly at me
​changing address in you:

touching me.

​(Un-)wrapping gifts &
facing me to myself.
Staying close around me &
returning to me.  From me

​to you - thank you!

Break heart (crack open)!
Leave your stubborn sunlit
excuses and look, for once,
At your black ashes!

​Tear those clothes of fear
and shame and look deep,
too deep for light to come
alone, and break!

Black heart, blacker than any black skin

of blackened grapes
or black township wars
​or black nights
for human rights
& darkening days
​for blacker sons & daughters

​Thula!
​Thula! Thula!
​Thula, mama!
Thula!

Ssshhh!

​Cry white tears quietly.
You lost your moment
to cry out loud
and wail and mourn
for the losses of others.

Now break your heart!  Break!
and know that you are
dust
and that, for you, water must come
​from someone else's eyes.

Wrap your arms around yourself
and cry into your own white bossom!
​Let your sobs be heard by none
other that your own heart and
​break it to pieces!

Hold it in your arms, your broken heart,
(see if you can) and see
how it was dead all the time
there inside you!  A dead child
​wrapped in rags and still held tight

by its panicking mother,
held tight and carried and fed,
​lest anyone (incl. her) should notice
that it was dead
and throw it away.
​
...

​What use is a black-burned heart
in all this sunshine?

​What use have we for our seared consciences
​while we're eating our braai meat?

​Why would we offer any sacrifices for our sins
​on our polite potjie fires?

​from 'Out' in Its Inside-out & Orange