That Old Space Poem by Martin Lochner

that old space



the old farm kitchen opens up

with the smell of mahogany and onion peel



sitting at the robust table with seven generations

of scars on its polished face



Grandmothers switch blade poke in the wood after

Striking against the chauvinist pigs sharing the table



great grandfathers angry rifle stub marking after

the loss against the British for Bloemfontein



the cigarette burn on father’s side when mother cried

uncontrollably when father got shot on the border



the legacy carved into the wooden memory of a family

that may live forever.



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