A language sea in red land: Limpopo
For Mr V
After a long but good day, now looking
for dinner at a Steers in Tzaneen,
listening to you speak to a cashier
in Tshivenda, I wanted to learn,
trying to type into a note
in my phone at the pace that you spoke.
The words were in your eyes, I could see them
rise and crest in your eyes and roll and stretch
and break in hers, leaving her awash.
Throughout our trip, with all our encounters
you could dive deeper, as we met Limpopo:
parts as dry as seabed, others lush red.
We journeyed towards a green horizon,
past so many people, our return unknown
and I followed your wet trail of words, with
every cashier, waitress, nightguard;
words that took me to an uncertain shore,
where I set myself adrift in their new-born sea.