KOMBI'S DEPARTURE*
She's the first passenger.
Now is her time of waiting.
Rickety kombi* that's seen better days,
a misshapen headlight resembling
a wink. No one can leave until all have arrived.
Like God, the kombi leaves no one behind.
An hour passes.
A man slithers to the depot, clutching
a cane gnarled as his face. Indifferent wood
supports him. Skin matches the kombi's rust,
coppery staple of being overworked.
Another fifteen minutes.
A woman arrives, her garb a parade of
parrots. She's swelling from within,
spewing juices of a double-person,
a double shadow. Each step is a hardship.
South Africa's lush vegetation heaped on her head,
sprouting in her womb.
Meanwhile, the girl is learning to knit,
to knead disparate strands of herself
into a life. Overhead, cranes are shrieking,
wheeling themselves towards a destination.
She is overwhelmed with going,
the necessity of somewhere.
She's more content in being
It may be hours until departure.
In this country, they know how to wait.
*Kombi is a generic nickname for vans and minibuses in South Africa and Swaziland, often used as a means of public transportation.
**First published in US1 Worksheets, 2010
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