the morning after…

it’s the morning after the night before. my first of many nights alone in the house, knowing that this time he’s not coming back. the first day of the rest of my life.

and i’m so sad.

i was wise enough yesterday to call my good friend deon for some support. we went to another friend’s birthday party over at claire johnston of mango groove’s house, while l was moving his stuff out. everyone was wonderfully supportive and didn’t mind me crying when i needed and claire and i connected like we’ve known each other forever. and i drank enough punch to knock out a horse, though it didn’t stop me from waking at 2 and wandering the house for the rest of the night. just like the night before.

the irony, the ambiguity and ambivalence is that while i’m mourning the end of what was meant to be forever, i know we had come to an impossible impasse. while we both wanted the same thing, we got lost in our own heads and never made it happen together. and then there are certain things which are non-negotiable for me and others which are non-negotiable for him. there’ve been times when i’ve been ready to walk away, times when all i’ve wanted to do was leave, but we stuck it out and now i feel hopelessly mired. it is so much harder to let go.

but still, it’s 4 years worth crying over, so i’m giving it it’s due and grieving. though i’ll be ok. i’ve been through much worse and come out the other side. so i’m not running away. i’m feeling what i’m feeling and honoring that. i’m owning it.

and i know that everything’s going to  be alright. the slogan for the last week was “change”, wasn’t it? well, a change has come. and without a struggle, the chrysalis cannot become the butterfly.

at least lack of sleep has always brought out the poet in me.

watching love walk away     nov8.08

we sit
on the sofa.

side by side,
yet worlds apart.

your words sink inside me
like stones.
we’re in  a ship descending
into a sea of regret,
while on the horizon lie
tomorrows that never will be.
my tears will not stop
and so the waves overwhelm.

the ship starts breaking apart .
reality threatens to drown us both,
as clinging to flotsam
we float,
a part of each other
no more.
no longer us,
now just you and me.
we’re both still mouthing
“i love you”
“i’m sorry”,
but the distance between us deepens.

despite our best intentions,
despite everything we’ve tried,
on the shore, far off,
in the distance,

we  can see love.

and it is walking away.
(pic removed)

A wake  Nov 9, 08

I am holding a vigil
For us
A wake for what was
I am staying up these long nights
My eyes wide
My heart hollow

There’s part of me
hopes that you are sleepless too
But the better part
hopes you are sleeping sound
And resting in peace.


the things we take for granted/just another day in jozi

you walk through the door
and there’s a look on your face
that’s strange.
something’s been
rearranged since the last time i saw you,
since the last cavalier

“didn’t you get my message?” you say.
i explain the mundane inanity
of a phone forgotten at work.
“mine’s been stolen,”
you say, your voice flat and calm
as you regale me with a nightmare of doors kicked in,
and men with zipties and guns.

in my mind flash horrific scenes of
“what might have been”.
but like you, i am numb.

i look at you and see the violence reverberate.
“shhhhh…”, i say,
pulling you close.

as i hold you
i cannot help but feel imaginary bullet wounds,
i feel the holes rent by that knife.
i see one more hole ripped huge in the fragile silk
of this parachute,
our life.

and yet:
i also feel the things we take for granted.

and i am grateful for another chance.

silent scream

edvard munch - the scream

i’ve not been blogging the last few days as i’ve been feeling particularly inarticulate and speechless. every time i turn on my radio (which is where i’ve been getting most of my local news), i seem to slide deeper and deeper into indigo, a shade way beyond the blues.
we, as south africans, are faced with overwhelming questions to which nobody has the answers and i’m left feeling frustrated and powerless. south africa used to be THE  symbol of infinite possibilities, of the seemingly impossible made possible, of the power of forgiveness, of unity, of transcendence. i understand the frustration of the disadvantaged at promises not kept, services not provided, but my mind boggles at the differences in perception that exist, at the willingness to mutilate and murder and steal, at the inability to see another human being as exactly that; someone’s mother, father, brother, sister, child. as a mirror of ourselves.
i hear horror stories from every source as mounting fear and paranoia build. more and more people carry pepper spray. my (peace-loving) boyfriend wants to buy a gun. i really don’t know what to do. i know if we all do a little, it can add up to a lot, so i go through my closets. i see what warm clothing i can spare for the people who now have even less than the little they  started out with, but it feels so trifling. i know: there, but for the grace, go i.
i wish i had answers, but when i open my mouth, all that comes out is a silent scream.
if you have any ideas as to what we need to do, please feel free to comment and let me know.
lately i feel… (a poem i wrote during another inarticulate spell)
lately i feel incredibly dumb
like my tongue’s been nailed to a board
like my brain’s been robbed
of some of the best knowledge
once stored there
words which use to roll
around my mouth at will
now will not come
lie lost as worlds beneath stilled waters
and will not come
even when sought
no matter how i prodding poke
my prying oar
still the glassy surface steely holds
and will not reveal nor
it’s hoard
image: the scream, but edvard munch


this afternoon the green room at work saw a few of us actors sitting around watching the news –  aghast at the details being revealed about the austrian who imprisoned his daughter for 24 years, fathering 7 children with her.
Josef Fritzl and Elizabeth Fritzl

i’m speechless.  i can’t allow myself to dwell on it too much. at least i wasn’t imprisoned – i managed to escape… that poor woman wasn’t as lucky. so many other women aren’t as lucky. all i can do is shake my head at the fact that the devil comes in so many different guises. first natascha kampusch, now this… once again a reminder why i have such a strong reaction to men who try to control me.

never again. never again. never again.


Pederast, paedophile –
you sick fuck!
You suck!
or at least
that’s what you made me do –
and more.
much worse.
I was only four –
how much more innocent could I be?
And yet, like a vile snake, you defiled me!

No, I take it back.
That image of the snake
is my totem now,
though not like yours;
no violent, hissing thing,
but the one, tail in mouth –
the orobourus,
symbol of strength and rebirth,
now my defense,
my familiar….

You took so much.
Your touch left me besmirched,
and lurching
into what’s supposed to be a life.
Well, enough!
It’s time to shed this grimy skin –
I’ll reveal the one,
untouched, within
and like the phoenix, I shall rise.
The only ashes left,
are yours.

I am a slave,
joyfully dancing on your grave.
I’ve escaped the crack and lash
of your whip
and my sisters are joining me.
The ones, head-shaven,
are growing their medusa-locks
and others you thought inside ripped,
not anymore –
we’ve slipped this yoke
with our phoenix-feathers flying,
You’ll see….
We are setting ourselves free.
(phoenix image and poem COPYRIGHT – SANDI SCHULTZ)