joy wat wyk

vanoggend was ek swanger
twee maande ver
vanmiddag is ek nie
vroeë bloed onheilspellend
vreemde doktervingers vroetel

“piepie asseblief weer in die bekertjie, mevrou…
…dit is mevrou, nê?”
urine sê “ja”
sonar sê “nee”
verwys na die en dan na daai
ek ryg deur groue grys gange wat eggo as ek loop
verdwaal in die buise of dalk ‘n gewas?
die gyne se oë kyk myne mis
drie steteskope bondel om my baarmoeder
“ek sien dan niks nie, mis ek iets?”

terug op die plastiek laken met my bene oop
sneeu lê ge-ys op die pieke deur die venster
koue jellie bied min verligting
alles skeur
sy’s weg
of was dit dalk ‘n laaitie?
my menswees verdwyn in ‘n silver bakkie
weggespoel oppad rioolplaas toe

Wie maak die berge wat om Ceres troon?
Wie besluit of ek mag ma wees of nie?
Wie laat die varkore langs die vrugteboorde blom?
Ag Jirre, my hart en lyf is stukkend!

(vir Joy Van Wyk op 7 Augustus 2006)

departing joy

this morning I was pregnant
two months along
this afternoon I am not
premature blood bad premonition
foreign doctor-fingers fidget

“please wee in this little cup for us, Mrs…
…it is Mrs, isn’t it?”
urine says “yes”
sonar says ”no”
referred to here and then to there
I weave down dreary hallways that echo when I walk
lost in the tubes or perhaps a tumour?
the gyne’s eyes avoid mine
three stereoscopes convene around my womb
“I can’t see anything, am I missing something?”

back on the plastic sheet with my legs open
snow lie frozen on the peaks through the window
cold jelly provide little comfort
everything tears
she’s gone
or was perhaps a son?
my humanity disappears in a silver kidney bowl
washed away toward the sewerage yard

Who makes the mountains that reign around Ceres?
Who decides if I may mother a child?
Who allows the wild flowers to grow next to the orchards?
Oh God, my heart and body is broken!