Dad, Sometimes When I Dream Poem by Gert Strydom

Dad, sometimes when I dream
it is as if I remember your voice,
as if the hairs on my arms again rise
like when you read the poem
about the cannibal to me

finding me on the polished red porch
where my brother cornered me
with a open hosepipe
and I did not want to go into the house

as he would follow me in to it
and he and you and I,
everyone laughed
like naughty children

as if we would on a weekend
get into the shining black car,
drive to the Vaal River
to find a angling place near to Villiers

there next to the stream dig out earthworms
for bait, stringing corn
to a hook
and you would cast my line out very far

but much too early you turned into earth
and your spirit is resting, where you lie unaware
and I am still reaching out to you
as if I again want you to embrace me.