Antjie Krog Biography

neither the moist intimacy of your eyelids fair as fennel
nor the violence of your body withholding behind sheets
nor what comes to me as your life
...

under orders from my ancestors you were occupied
had I language I could write for you were land my land
...

tonight everything speaks through the dead
towards me
your brittle bundle of bones
...

since we started walking
this road the irises
finished blooming the still
abandoned eyeballs of
...

while she makes tea something strangely
familiar flows down her inner thigh. like ink.
after many years she bleeds again.
...