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This is the LitNet archive (2006–2012)
Visit the active LitNet platform at www.litnet.co.za

Nuwe skryfwerk | New writing > Fiksie | Fiction > English > Published authors


Sarah Frost - 2009-05-14

In her bed upstairs she burns
as strong as Venus,
fizzling against a cool autumnal sky.
The moon hiding oblong behind a fretwork of trees.

The presence of the man with the knowing eyes,
Anna’s husband’s brother, lying on the sofa downstairs,
torments her like a cat playing with a small bird.

She saw at the supper table that he wanted her.
Like a gas ring flaring beneath the coffee pot
he ignited a wildness, delicate as fireflies,
insistent as the breakers booming in from the backline.

She wants him too.
Yet the house ticks like a watchful clock
with the sleeping breaths of family.

She tiptoes down the verandah stairs
to stand at the window where he sleeps,
wishing for a sight of him through the rough weave of calico curtains,
that Anna pulled tightly shut earlier that evening.

The dark enfolds her like a tubular flower.
Her longing is the incandescence of a wave
bearing down on rocks, ricocheting like the sudden burst and hum
of his motorbike kick-starting into action the next day,

the unsatisfied quiet of the forest left behind
a frail deer, remaining.