Photo of Paula Fourie and Athol Fugard: Paula Fourie (published with her permission)
11 June 2026. In remembrance of Athol Fugard on what would have been his 94th birthday, Paula Fourie shares a poem with LitNet’s readers. The poem will appear in her debut poetry collection, Inked in bone, forthcoming from Granta in November 2026.
Dear Athol
It’s your birthday today. 93 years old,
would have been. Sated moon-
gathered clouds, distant snow.
The children’s hands opening small
in the new day. Toddler flinging fistfuls
of millet, red sorghum and crushed
maize while the baby coos like a mourning
dove. And still your hibiscus blooms
tight buds and frayed flowers. How many
late-life hours did you give that shrub? Joining
sunbirds and white-eyes among chiffon
blooms, uncountable like your
love-yous, studying the decaying pink
carpet below. We celebrate. I gift
your rosewood pipe to your pulmonologist,
unworn boots to Eric our gardener
and favourite stained hoodie to Concilia
our housekeeper who mourns you also. Little
tests before peeling grief’s layers to its pale
core and sending your jackets and shoes
to Kayamandi. Regret we didn’t sooner.
It’s a harsh winter. At the end, you trusted
only your tired leather sandals. Today, I burrow
through hard earth and roots at the hibiscus’s
feet. In a handsome square hole, plant
your sandals, torn National Geographic
shirts, spectacles, eye drops, letter and lipstick
pink rose. Open, wet kisses as the baby
reluctantly drops Charon’s coin. Toddler now
flinging fistfuls of damp earth. I’m marked
by love and loss, have drunk much
wine with grief. Today, I’m giving you
me, undulled. Your bravery and faith
in life, my life, is spreading like wild
fire again. Happy birthday, my love.