I Want What Comes After

By KELWYN SOLE

I want what comes after:

the first lifted bucket’s clang

once the rooster’s all crowed out,

a keen thirst for fresh water

as sequel to that sound

 

your smell drying on my skin,

your fingers brushing briefly

against my stomach as you stir

awake from dozing: or, when

you’ve gone, an empty shape

left sprawled asleep within

the blankets on my bed.

I want what comes after:

the miraculous vigil of a moth

unburnt beside us in the sheets;

toast starting to brown, the nails

of a scabby cat across the floor,

conclaves of birds upon the eaves

 

the rustle of trees as they begin

to post their letters to the wind –

wind that’s strong enough to blow

off a roof of morning mist, a sky

like a field that begs a plough

emerging. And the two of us

looking outside to find the dawn

to which we’ll trust our bodies.

 

 

Kelwyn Sole is professor of English literature at the University of Cape Town and guest-editor for Issue 04.  

Photo by Zane Selvan, from Flickr Creative Commons

I Want What Comes After

Related Posts

owl graffiti

Histories

SARAH DUNPHY-LELII
I once dated a bull rider, which is very interesting, I still find. He was at the time no longer a bull rider, he had rather been one in his youth, but this lingered, as you might expect.

Kentucky farmland

64-West & KY State Fair

D.S. WALDMAN
And how, / if we keep going, pushing ourselves farther / from ourselves, we’d see, eventually, the blankness / we were one day born into. / I forget what you / told me after—I think it had something to do / with loneliness.     

Zebra finches on a branch

Anticipating, Zebra Finches

JOHN KINSELLA
Just below, a roo doe digs into the softest / soil it can find — avoiding rocks — to make / a hollow for itself and the joey heavy in its pouch; / it lifts, digs, turns drops lifts digs turns drops.