I like to think
these wounds that time has cauterised,
reveal, in perfect preservation
of lives that have passed through you.
But the rubble
the skin and entrails cast aside, to rot,
revive those relic, early memories
unsnaring the hems of those
whose dwelling place or grave you were installed astride.
Your martyrdom has somehow cut them loose.
I imagine her
Gutting a fish among your brutalist remains.
Her knife gliding through flesh
to expose the viscera, intact.
Its soft eyes stare out
Reflecting in their wet veneer the grey above
And beneath—a defiance of emptiness
In the flecks of colour in their gaze
And in your bared heart.
You, the youngest of our ruins.
Art by Jennifer van der Merwe
Photography by Jade Mkparu