The sun upon Elsieskraal

now, that I'm not so terrified anymore
for a drawing of memory

I carried my truth, my immense damage
from my cave in deep darkness to the light

now that the sun shines
upon Elsieskraal

I see again how Pa stands at the ruin of Okombara
peering into the yonder
thinking about the bitter zwazwa 

that took Piet away

Piet Coetzee, but nobody talks
nobody, for such a long time

about his suicide at Okombara, next to Okombuka
close to Elsieskraal, our place of dusty books, unsteady shelves
for firewood for the blackbirds to jump out of the pie
to start singing about the sweet wine of Namibia
where they have forgotten me
about everywhere where no one knew about me
from Skellemsbos to Wondhoek 

from Bulkop to Roggevlei

how brown was my valley, winter dry

to everywhere where no one caught me,
made me safe in green quiet held me softly, woke me up
everywhere, where no one comforted me

my mind twisted into memory loss
my psyche murdered 

my voice smothered

Pa died in so much grief, and the Namibians

probably by now, do discuss me, sometimes think of me

but Pa didn’t discuss me, he didn't catch me
he did not know

but he was remarkable
a lad from Banghoek Road, to the zinc house

to the attic room with all those bookshelves
to Skuilhoek’s hiding corner and back at home

at his beloved University of Pretoria

houses one after the other evacuated
with his brushes, easel, fountain pen, and ink

his desk heavy with Namibia mornings in watercolour documents
heavy with the snorting of Foekoe’s Landrover
heavy with bok shadows timidly jumping
in sparkling cold winter bright dew

my pa had a house: Elsieskraal

filled with lemmas
filled with children
filled with words

🦋🌿

© Annora Eksteen, 2025