The San's Promise by Rethabile Masilo

They came from the south
holding the sun in their right hand
like an object of worship,
crossed the Mohokare into the mountains,
leather bags full of ochre
and painting sticks, venom in small phials,
dried meat conserved in leaves. They stayed
long enough to paint the fat of the land:
hunt scenes, children hopping in playful circles
round a fire. An ostrich egg and roots
dug up from the desert's giving sand,
hand prints lit like sepals
exploding on grotto walls.


Rethabile Masilo, France

Waiting by Rethabile Masilo

Our bowls clanking
like ghost vessels,
we stand against sun and wind,
and death that loops over
to take our vision;
when all else has deserted us
in the blankness of the hour
the horizon, our last scene,
comes at us
from where no sun
will ever rise.


Rethabile Masilo, France

Mabota by Rethabile Masilo

One day the Mnandi sea
broke the southern crag,
and washed it, washed it
with soapy suds and
I saw brought down, by a jazz
ensemble, the walls of Jericho.
On that day, I went down
to the beach and listened,
half hoping for words to
appear, some pure clue to give
sense to our predicament,
a sign to be acknowledged,
cherished, held most dear.
On the contrary,
among spaces and old worlds
you can watch them keep
their outdoors from coming in.
If they spoke at all
we’d know why the child died—
it would be revealed to us—
if they as much as cracked
such code of silence.


Rethabile Masilo, France

Ampersands & Pretzels by Rethabile Masilo

When it's over, when the lover's poems fail,
passion slips under and drowns.

—or is it helped down?

In a casket made by a missionary long ago
I sent all verse beneath the loch,
I banished it there,
saw it slip under and drown,
built a fig-leaf bonfire on my return,
piled chronicles on it, danced nude
beside the pyre.

I long for days of
long physical exertion, arms reaching out
to ampersand the legs, to bare yearning
down the middle.

I like it when you as pretzel master,
let me knot you to my mood, saying,
swivel me! I un-bun my hair
to eat you of course without silverware.


Rethabile Masilo, France

jazz cricket by Rethabile Masilo

on the
way home I
noticed
a cricket
playing
in the park,
and stopped
to see how
it placed
the yellow
brass to
its lips; I
stood there
on the grass
a while,
wondering
how flowers
tint cloth,
blend scent,
scissor their
kangas*
to good size.


*kangas are the sarong type cloths worn by women in various parts of Africa.

Rethabile Masilo, France

Proof by Rethabile Masilo

Tell me--
it was proof
you wanted
that day
at the lake
wasn't it?
and so
in our room
following
one of your
mood trips,
with a
slick move
(I swear)
lest it get
too late,
I lassoed
the moon,
put it on
your roof,
told the stars
to wait.

Rethabile Masilo, Lesotho