GHAAP - Sonnets from the Northern Cape

Ghaap
Sonnets from the Northern Cape
by Michael Cope

3 Words

One can say nothing, and pretend that words won’t find

the truth if they’re set loose to hunt it out.

One can say too few, too many words, the wrong kind

of words, or the wrong words, or the right

ones in the wrong places. There are always

superlatives, or myths, or lies, or tired

old thoughts. One can be clever in many ways

without touching the world. One can desire

to speak but not find language.

There were rocks

the size of my hand. They had been formed

by other hands into these shapes – blade, axe

cleaver, scraper, chisel, more, until the head turned

with the numbing weight of them, their endurance,

their years, numbers, extent, language, silence.