Bio Note: I'm a retired high school teacher, born in Cape Town and raised in London, but a resident since 1979 of Richmond, Va. because while living in France I married an American girl who abruptly announced "I'm going home, are you coming?" I'm brown and triracial; I like to write across the aesthetic map in terms of both genre and voice; my three books since 2019 are a full length play, a poetry collection, and a hybrid non-fiction/photography tome about the 2020 Lost Cause statuary removals. (The photographs will go on display this month at our Black History Museum.)
I wouldn't, love, if I were you. Touch leads so fiercely to touch. Your pigheaded heart knows as much. And you shouldn't. You do know that too? I didn't, back when I was you. Touché: it's made me who I am. Do I praise myself with a faint damn, Sometimes, thinking back there? I do. Perhaps the ones who most thrive Are those who learn young how to take The measured risk. Or the charmed kids Who calculate less, but survive— By luck—the hog-hearted mistake Of touching whatever touch bids.
©2021 Derek Kannemeyer
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