Kobus Moolman
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Weighed and Wanting

In four standard sizes.

S.

She says: I am losing my way in my own back garden. She says: I walk out of the house, down the back stairs. And suddenly I don’t know which way to turn to get back.

M.

She says: Most days I have to sit on my hands to stop them flying off in all directions. She says: Most days I have to hold on to my head to stop it running off with the stray cats that howl under my window. She says: Most days I have to drink my own spit that drips from my mouth like a rabid dog’s. To stop it dripping from my mouth like a rabid dog’s.

L.

She says: Something is eating me inside my head. She says: I don’t know what to do with my hands. When they start to make the action of a vacuum cleaner. Across my head. She says: There is something that sounds like a leaf blower. That keeps starting up in my head. She says: In the green water of the public pool. I see three heads reflected on my shoulders. She says: The first one is mine. The second belongs to the lifeguard. And the third one is my dead father’s. Whom I never knew.

XL.

She says: Comfort me with stones. She says: Comfort me with sand and ash. She says: The wind is grey now. And the sky is cold. And everything is far too big for me to fit into.

kobus-moolman

Kobus Moolman was born in 1964 in Pietermaritzburg. He is an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at the University of the Western Cape. He holds a PhD in English Studies from the University of KwaZulu-Natal.

Among many platitudes, he is the recipient of the 2015 Glenna Luscehi Prize for African Poetry for his collection A Book of Rooms (deep south).