‘Lockdown’ by Caitlin Venniker

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Lockdown

The day sprawls wider than a yawn, a mouth
that sucks a ticking clock, a door that lets
the wind blow in, but no one comes to lift
their fist and knock. The rain outside is free
to run and fall and fling itself through puddles
on the ground. I watch it slide down drains
and kiss the pools below like fish with open
mouths. I push the windows wide to let
it in, and wish a meadow’s green would come
for tea. The kettle’s on, for goodness sake
come in and I’ll invite the sea, eat chocolate
cake with tiny spoons and sit on the
settee. We’ll be together outside-in,
the sky below the roof. We’ll lean on clouds
with dragonflies, smoke cigarettes and talk
about our youth. The wind will tell us where
he’s been, through all the empty streets. A sapling
sits beside a stream, a starfish on his lap,
with fog pulled tight over his knees, and sunshine
on his feet. And when we’re done, they’ll bend
their boughs, pick up their acorn buds, anemones
and leaves, and say goodbye and kiss me at
the door. The house will pull its sleeves of silence
up once more, and all that will be left
to show they’ve been are teacups in the sink
and raindrops on the floor.

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Caitlin Venniker studied English at the University of Cape Town before changing direction completely and becoming a veterinarian. She lives between the United Arab Emirates and South Africa.