Dreams at dispatch
He stands in the open mouth of the dispatch door,
blond hair catching the sodium hum of dawn,
blue eyes quiet as tide pools left behind by night.
She moves through the aisle like a shadow stitched with spring,
black pants, green and black shirt, the color of new leaves after rain,
every moment a soft claim on the concrete world.
His palms remember nothing yet ache anyway,
imagining the warm curve of her waist beneath his hands,
the way his fingers might fit perfectly there,
drawing her close until the space between them forgets how to exist.
In the secret theater behind his ribs
he steps forward, fearless,
presses his lips to the velvet hollow beneath her ear,
whispers I love you
into the pulse that answers like a second heartbeat.
He holds her tight,
not possession, but shelter,
arms a quiet vow against the cold that lives in fluorescent light
and early-morning shifts.
Then the forklift beeps.
A pallet jack rattles past.
Reality folds the vision closed
like a letter never sent.
yearning, lusting, but
he stays where he is,
one boot braced against the threshold,
watching her,
carrying the dream like contraband
tucked against his chest
where no one can see
how fiercely it still burns.
Amathongo Emnyango Wokuthumela
Umi emlonyeni ovulekile womnyango wokuthumela,
izinwele ezimhlophe zibamba ukukhanya kwe-sodium yokuqala kokusa,
amehlo aluhlaza athule njengamachibi ashiywe ubusuku.Uhamba phakathi kwendlela njengesithunzi esithungwe intwasahlobo—
amabhulukwe amnyama, ihembe elimnyama neliluhlaza, umbala wamaqabunga amatsha emva kwemvula,
wonke umzuzu uyisifiso esithambile emhlabeni wekhonkrithi.Izandla zakhe azikhumbuli lutho kodwa zibuhlungu noma kunjalo,
zicabanga ukugoba okufudumele kwesinqe sakhe phansi kwezandla zakhe,
indlela iminwe yakhe engangena kahle khona,
imsondeza eduze kuze kube yilapho isikhala phakathi kwabo sikhohlwe ukuba khona.Etheatreni eyimfihlo ngemuva kwezimbambo zakhe
uhamba phambili, engenakwesaba,
acindezele izindebe zakhe emgodini welusilika ngaphansi kwendlebe yakhe,
ahlebe Ngiyakuthanda
emgodini ophendula njengenhliziyo yesibili.Uyamgona ngokuqinile—
hhayi ukumfuna, kodwa ukumvikela,
izingalo ziyisifungo esithule ngokumelene nokubanda okukhona ekukhanyeni kwe-fluorescent
nasekuqaleni kwamahora okusebenza.Khona-ke i-forklift iyakhala.
Ipallet jack iduma idlula.
Iqiniso ligoqa umbono livalwe
njengencwadi engakaze ithunyelwe.Ukukhathazeka, ukufisa ngokujulile, kodwa uhlala lapho ekhona,
elinye iqatha limi emnyango,
embuka,
ethwala iphupho njengempahla yomshushisi
efihliwe esifubeni sakhe
lapho kungekho muntu ongabona
ukuthi lisabhunguza kanjani ngamandla.
More TAM Poems
TAM Short stories
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Angelic Scorn Categories – The truth is heartless, picks no side, does not care about your feelings, takes no special interest in account, only facts, and without it, we are all doomed.
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