PERSUASION (for Mishka and Stuart Hoosen-Lewis) You’re a couple in the crossing. I’m not part of a couple. My stories come out of the light that is shining in...
Author - Abigail George
South African Abigail George is a blogger, essayist, short story writer, screenwriter, novelist, and poet. She briefly studied film in Johannesburg. She has two film projects in development and is the recipient of two grants from the National Arts Council, one from the Centre for the Book and another from ECPACC. Her publishers are Tendai Rinos Mwanaka (Zimbabwe, Mwanaka Media and Publishing or Mmap), Xavier Hennekinne (Australia/New Zealand, Gazebo Books), and Thanos Kalamidas (Finland, Ovi). Her literary representative is Morten Rand. She is a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net nominated, and European Union Poetry Prize longlisted poet. Her poem “The Accident” was Identity Theory's Editor's Choice for Spring. Ink Sweat and Tears chose her poem “When light poured into me at the swimming pool” as a September Pick of the Month, and she recently made the shortlist of the Writing Ukraine Prize 2023. She is a poet/writer who believes in the transformative, restorative and healing powers of words. Her latest book is Letter To Petya Dubarova (Australia/New Zealand, Gazebo Books). Young Galaxies (a poetry book) was released in 2023 from Mmap and a memoir When Bad Mothers Happen is forthcoming. “Clarissa, Hector and Septimus Redefined” was recently published by Novelty Fiction in Kindle format.
Once I called you home. Once you called / me sanctuary. Your hands were like a hat full / of leaves, a porcelain teacup full of blue sky… The old woman...
WE ARE STRANGERS WAITING FOR THE TRAIN It is who you are. We all came from Adam’s Eden. Walked down that road. There is just an empty space. I act now as...
There are days when everything hurts. You drink from the cup until nothing is left… ‘How’s my favourite woman?’ I would say those words over and over...
DAUGHTERS SITTING TOGETHER AT THE KITCHEN TABLE (for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee) Here’s looking at you at fifty. You’re fifty still living in your parents’...
So, mother, like Johannesburg, you cut me in deep, imaginative and resourceful ways. A cut from you was a project. Thinking of you, staring at you, looking at...
SONG AT SUMMER’S END (for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee) Eat it for dinner. Voice of Eve. The sea. Mum is the sleeping woman. Hands on the wheel driving to the...
Judith smiled across at Thomas. She didn’t say anything when he stroked her thigh up and down in the car. Up and down. Up and down. Until she felt an internal...
AFTER COMING OUT AFTER A LONG DEPRESSION (for the South African poet Cwayita Hlohloza) I wanted to say this. Just because we don’t talk all the time on the...
JAMES DEAN (An experimental poem in twelve haiku) You’re bringing heaven (on) – keep still (in memory) thread or I’ll lose you (your) hands made to cherish...
KISSING THE VELVET OF YOUR SHOULDER BLADES (for H.) If, if, I cease to exist, or co-exist in your world, suffering is progress. Flesh...
Now when I look at you, my son, I know that earth’s tomb will come for you, like it will come for all of us. Take me into the light. It has a quality that...
