Poem

Right place, wrong time

An open door; I wanted one
though it makes me nervous
I realise the grass is always greener
But here it’s a golden yellow, a dusty green, a burnt-out bush.

Only half appreciating the understated fiery brilliance of an African sunset,
the mighty Victoria Falls,
the verve of this open land…
…the other half of me waiting to appreciate it with someone else
to really witness it, to grasp that someone’s hand.

Living partly now, partly in the future
in a land that could be here,
could be elsewhere.
No more educated gambles, bettering a career, no more starry-eyed views of Africa
But wait until the intoxicating story unfolding around me can be shared
with my love.

Until then I’ll put the storybook down, I’ll leave a part of me in this place,
I’ll pack up a piece of this land
and put it in the pocket of my dress.
A puzzlingly melancholy sensation, to love a place, to be yourself
But to not feel fully immersed, to not be fully conscious, to be holding out for another time.

So I will hold out, I will work hard, I absorb the heady milieu
But into the scene I'll add details from the future,
a life not yet spun.
For now I collect the yarn, I picture a pattern
I love this land, I do, but I also love something not yet begun.

Liz Wainwright
Kalomo, Zambia

Development worker... originally from Devon... now living in Zambia... via various other places. I like to create in my spare time.... words, pictures, photos, music, cakes - I love creating, I love the sea and I'm having fun on the way. Especially when the cakes don't burn.

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