The invisible man
(poème pour un SDF de la rue d’Alésia)
It all started when the day lasted
a dozen months, taken from life like a still,
as if a typical god was upon us for his own good,
turning everything into lengths and years,
the palmed life just beyond the rim of eyes.
How you lingered, tendrils waiting
for their moment in the sun, wanting
to open like fingers, nostrils flaring
at gardens, at the smell of leaf and root
piled beside the wheel-barrow.
By the end of the second day
the heap in the corner begins to rot
with the help of a world spinning out of control
to a single death.
On the third day we’re burdened with murder
as we pass the your shadow in the doorway
with neither hearing nor roses where you lie;
no eyes behind mirrored windows, no warning
that someone has been subscribed to die.
Till the last day stretches into a brand-new place
with yeast that we openly share in a calabash. And
as the sun drops its goodbye,
I know it is not impossible for man
to become better.
© Rethabile Masilo
