2023

Al die poets skryf oor dié jaar
asof hulle regtig weet sy bring heil.
Die rykmanne gee raad oor dinge wat werk (of nie),
maak reg vir nog ‘n ronde dobbelwerk
om hul sakke te laat bult.
Die sangers polish kitare,
die sportmanne (en vroue) stof ‘n slag hul bekers af

Maar die Essies en Linas en Karels
sit onder koeltebome op sypaadjies en wonder
hoeveel keer hulle vanjaar sal eet
en of die Here tóg ‘n tikkie genade
oorhet.

This holiday

I ate Coco Pops from the box
With my 7-year-old son beside me,
reaching in for a handful too.
I jumped in swimming pools with strangers,
played endless rounds of cards,
read books by unknown authors
and ate a lot of food.
I danced in the rain with my daughter,
took drives down unfamiliar roads,
played tennis in the passage,
broke many plates and glasses,
and laughed and laughed with my children
till the inside of our bellies hurt.

I cried, too,
writing fiery poetry to my toxic self
filled with pinky promises of how, this year,
I will tread lightly,
gently
softly,
knowing all too well
that eating sweets for breakfast
is a lot easier to do.

 - Alvené Appollis-du Plessis