Difficult Gifts: Poems
Forty-two poems by Dawn Garisch, a doctor who writes, a poet who walks, a researcher who dances. She lives in Cape Town near the mountain and the sea and has two grown sons. Her last novel, Trespass, was nominated for the Commonwealth Prize in Africa.
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To My Father Who Died
A Necessary Tearing
The Weakest Link
Portrait of a Marriage
Into The Valley
To the Sisters
Over the wall
The Anatomy of Poetry
She said shed had a normal childhood
On being a single mother living with two adolescent sons
The Difficult Gift
Anatomy of Poetry arrive bees bled blood Bluebeard’s gift body bone Boulders braai breath burnt caress catch Cheesemaker Chief Engineer childhood home clutch dark Difficult Gift doesn’t Dog Days door drink drowning earth edge Elephant Park ember enter everywhere I ride eyes face falling upwards fingers fish flowers front lawn garden gulls hand hang he’d heart of matter imagine insects inside JUHHQ KDQGV keyhole layers lean leaves Leiwater light lives looks sits lost lover Marriage milk miracle mother motive and invention mountain Necessary Tearing night owls pain polluted water released and falling rock root round sacrament sails Saro Wiwa ship go sits and looks skin sleep slid Slow dozing smoke stabbed stand stitch stone story strung Switzerland taught trapped trees laying trout trying to align upwards into air UVWERUQ VLOHQW waiting wall wall They’ve Weakest Link wife wind Women swimming