Dust

 from Its Inside-out & Orange:  Singing songs in the sun​
A memory of growing up in SA

Nothing but
a mineral mixture
of metals and rock
with the rot of leaves
and flowers and the remains
of the bodies
others were dressed in.

Playing in
it as children we know nothing of its value.
History sticks to our feet
and stays under our
fingernails and in our ears
'til we go home;

Carrying it indoors, 'straight to the
bathroom!' - burning ears
pulled for better hearing -
to wash it all away
with hard water;

Leaving pink-
brushed fingers and toes
to run to supper,
​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​clasp and curl together in 'Thanks'
and kick each other
u​nder the table
for worse sins committed
against our brothers that day than

Collecting dust.
There are ways of becoming covered in dirt
that are much worse than
falling:  like lying too still,
too long, without breathing;
or sitting too still, too long, not

Saying what
you must say and
can't so that it sticks
in your throat, suffocating
you.  There are worse ways to collect dust
than racing and falling and rolling.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​