Arriving at the night fire, a poem by Dorian Haarhoff
in Motetema, Limpopo Province I feed the teachers, morning to late light, a feast of stories. as the sun sifts the room one ladles a question onto my plate. it lies there like the pap we ate at lunch. Who did you inherit story-telling from? a big meal question. he watches me chew. first response, inside, I say, No one. It started here. but this Lazarus has raised a ghost. I take his question down to my gut to search for one who hands down gifts. who multiplies fish and bread. I answer his gaze. when I tell, the story comes from somewhere else, through me. You see this? he slowly nods and smiles. a match strikes a woodpile. Europe and Africa blood and belonging reconcile in the telling. it is the ancestors who story through me. a night fire ignites my belly. Dorian Haarhoff