Poetry from Sandra Horn

PATHOLOGY MUSEUM SPECIMEN

Here, held in limbo,
floats not-quite-life;
unable to decay,
unable to begin
as dust flies to raindrop,
raindrop to river,
river to fish:
lithe, silvery fish.
As ash lifts in wind-flow,
wind flows to berry-bud,
berry-bud to bird:
high soaring bird.
As earth turns to wormcast,
wormcast to rootlet,
rootlet to tree:
burgeoning tree.

BALLROOM DANCING ON ROBBEN ISLAND

‘Shall we begin with a waltz this morning?
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, turn.’
Did you da...

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