GHAAP - Sonnets from the Northern Cape

Ghaap
Sonnets from the Northern Cape
by Michael Cope

1 Tools

The hill is crowded with tools: axes, cleavers, blades,

formed and flaked of red-brown banded ironstone.

The tools have waited there a million years,

bearing their silent knowledge like any other rock.

The cloud back-lit by the moon is an ancient face:

two dark eyes with silver rims, a sickle smile.

The chalet also has its tools: knives, forks, bowls,

stainless and formica. They have waited to contain us,

hold us away from the ancient night, its raw

frost and rustling sound – the aircon purrs and growls.

The tools are the thoughts of ancestors who should

be called into the convocations of the wise, but they

are still and patient, and their voices cannot reach

through our walls – they do not rattle in the dark.