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Showing posts from 2014


He whispered her name, more breath than sound, afraid the universe would hear him and mock his pain.
Eddie trudged through his apartment roughly grabbing his gear; throwing it onto the brown leather couch which still held imprints of her, of them, from days gone by when things were good; when loving was on couches & on countertops; on balconies & in backyards...

He kicked the offending couch which refused to give up on her, her imprint etched deep, her scent clinging to coarse fabric. Gold tendrils remained woven in blankets and rugs; hiding out in every nook and cranny of the apartment.
He threw his backpack onto the heap causing a ruckus as spray cans crashed together with a ping and a plastic cap of bright yellow rolled under the TV trolley.
"Bugger!" he cursed falling to his knees trying to reach under the unit to find the runaway cap. His hand came up empty; covered in dust and dirt.
Lola loved to clean.
And Lola left.

He wiped his hands on …


Ever was slowly becoming one of the nightfolk, her compulsion driving her out of the safety of the Comfort Zone.
The wind played with her thick black coat.
It billowed out behind her caught up in the gust intent on causing havoc in the sleeping city.

Ever dashed down dark alleyways, her Doc Martins plowing through the muck left behind by day dwellers with little regard for the place in which they did their business from 8-to-7 every day for 360 days of a year. Sundays seized being sacred in an era where money became Divine.

The city clean-up usually commenced in the small hours of the morning; Ever reckoned the schedule worked as the council workers could do their jobs unhindered when the Market Zone was cleared of crowds. She had the quiet streets to herself for at least two more hours before she needed to head back home to surburbia.
"Let's meet at midnight," he suggested in his communicade, replying to her request for a meeting in a flash.
The dark  hour, it seemed, w…

Finding view

Winter came early, appearing unannounced,  leaving locals swearing at it's bad timing.

Susan sat in silence listening to the South-Easter howling and giant raindrops pinging on patio doors rattling in winter's wake. Her apartment on the top floor caught the brunt of the storm; the winds in Bloubergstrand were particularly strong; the sea her always beautiful, always feisty neighbour from across the road.
Susan loved her little nest, all 68 square metres of it. She paid a fortune for her views of Table Mountain and Robben Island. She imagined herself  to be a neighbour of the great man; since passed. She was sure his spirit lingered on, in oceans and valleys, on mountains and streets, casting a watchful eye over his beloved country.
"27 years is a long time," she thought, as she bent down to pick crumbs off the carpet.
She smiled a secret smile, pleased with herself for pulling off the homemade meal ; for wowing Paul with her culinary skills: Lasagne and Olive Ciabatt…


The moon was absent.
Noon sat in silence, hiding in shadows, her arms thin like sticks, her bony collar bone protruding through the heavy sack ratty in places. Her eyes were circled dark, darker than that dreadful night coating the city in black.
The sack had "HAND ROASTED COFFEE - 10LBS" written across the edge.
The pungent smell of coffee beans made her gag, but it was the only covering she could lay her hands on in the alleyway behind the Twilight Bar & Grill.
The sack grated against her skin, making her itch and left her scratching till it bled.
She picked at old scabs, rolling the hard bits between pointy fingertips. Her translucent skin was scaly in places; the overlapping scabs thick (some healed, other wounds fresh)

 For 8 months she had to make the journey to the surface every week end. It had been hard, but she had been chosen and she was nearly prepared. Her tiny belly was round and small, she ran her index finger along the round 3 times, each time a mantra s…

Silent Sundays

I awake to find my world shining:  tiny droplets cling to leaves and birds; shingles and window panes, making everything sparkle.
A light drizzle had fallen while we were sleeping.
"We have ants mom!" my son said opening  the front door in the dark of Saturday night, his arms weighed down by shopping bags.  He was becoming a man, fast. The kind of man who carries bags and opens doors.
"Looks like its gonna rain," I said, "we can do with some rain."

I leave the kitchen door open to let in the smell of newly washed earth. Our garden looks wild and untamed, no manicured lawns or beds of flowers, but lush guava trees and thick bushes, and a bird bath holding crisp clear rainwater.
Tiny birds are having a party, tweeting and splashing about amidst the quiet of a sublime Sunday.
A solitary car hums in the distance disturbing the peace and they scatter.
"Lucky birds!"I call to them.
 They have flight when noise imposes in their world.
The pair …

Spring cleaning

Saturday dawns with blustery winds and a cool disposition. It is inside-weather and inside the four walls of my home, is a sanctuary. 
It is my time and I'm in the mood to clean out cobwebs & cupboards, to tackle the old & the new.

Spring cleaning is therapeutic; it provides physical exercise and mental stimulation. It is so much more than brooms and mops; irons and washers; creases and dust.

My mother's hand grips the iron tightly, pushing down hard, veins thick and ridged and deep blue, fighting stubborn creases like I'm gonna get paid.
"Bony," my dad used to call her, lovingly; bursting into song: "I've got a girl named Bony Maronie, she's as thin as a stick of macaroni..."
I have her hands and feet, fingers and toes long and slim, refusing to allow fat to deposit there, sending it all to the bum and thighs.
A burst of steam whooshes out, hitting me in the face like a facial.
A slow smile wrinkles the corners of tired eyes as I iron out crea…


The maternity ward was awash with light. 
Nurses in white uniforms glided along passageways ringing with the sound of delight and the pleasant cries of newborn babies carried by pure voices untouched by words. 
Sara didn't belong there.
"I don't belong here!" she said sharply to the sister on duty.
"Mommy, you're in the right place," said the nurse, holding a hand out to her huge belly, "you look like you're about to pop!"
She was a happy woman working in a happy place filled with an air of promise.
Dan, sensing her anguish, stepped forward to explain.
"Dr Winston's secretary told us my wife was to be booked into the general ward," he said firmly, "can you check with them and clear this up, we'll be in the waiting room."
"No, silly" she laughed, clapping her hands together joyfully, " you're in the right place! I can see it's your first one," she insisted, sure of herself.
Losing her temper, S…

32 Wicker Lane

Joe spied Aunty Miriam out of the corner of his eye,  the vibracrete wall offering him little protection. It should have been higher according to his dad, but his mom was neighbourly; and a little paranoid about security.
With his hoodie pulled down low, he was skulking about grabbing a quick cigarette before the dreaded family hour round the dinner table. For now, he was hiding from his mom and her disapproving stares.
He gave her a quick wave."No bags this time, aunty Mirrie?" he asked.
The woman was forever lugging bags: carrier bags, handbags, school bags, gym bags... Always on the go; she never seemed to rest. She had the strength of Samson! He'd seen her handling 6 Spar bags at one time. That and juggling her handbag, her phone; and her sunglasses on top of her head!
He was sure she'd have muscles like a man, but the tannie appeared formless under layers and layers of dark clothing. For a second he felt sorry for her and wondered if she wasn't getting hot …


She stirred from a deep sleep, on edge, instantly alert in the heart of the darkest part of night. She felt a chill despite the heavy heat clinging to her naked body. She was covered in sweat and dirty secrets.
Spreading her limbs out wide, she patted down blood red linen in search of her pj's.
"When did I take it off?" she frowned, puzzled, not remembering.
Running her hands over familiar places, she trailed fingers slowly down trying to remember why she'd shed her flimsy slip.
Her dream niggled at her, it was a piece of a very blurry puzzle.  She struggled to remember what, who, where...

As if in a trance, she trailed her index finger from behind her left ear, along her jawline, to parted lips, plump and moist.
She found collar bone: defined and hard; and her sweet spot in the centre, hers now to dabble with.
"This is my beginning...and it will be my end" he'd say, loving her and hating her in the same breath. A voice from the past with a choke hold o…

A day at the beach

9am and I was ready to hit the surf.
Flip flops hit rocks; discarded like a pair of old sneakers.
Bare feet thrilled at the hard, warm cragginess.
Happy toes seeking crevices found warm salty water left behind when waves ebbed back
In one smooth motion I sank to my bottom, plonking down sunglasses and tearing off offending clothes.
I cast a lazy eye over fellow sun worshippers; they had that same look of  contentment, drugged by the sun and the smell of the sea.

"Hi," nodded my neighbour, sharing the rock next door, I nodded back.
He greedily nuzzled at the head of the Heineken, placing the bottle down between his legs. It brushed against the tattoo of a snake coiling up his calf, drops clinging to green ink.
The familiar crinkle of the cigarette pack as he removed it from his ruck sack, grabbed my attention.  I placed two fingers to my lips, sucking deeply out of habit. With a flick of his wrist the cigarettes was lit and smoke drifted to me in waves, awakening my senses.