You touched me from far away and years apart
Read the story now
I checked you are 26.
You live in another country so far away from my home South Africa.
I am so much older than you.
I don't read poetry.
Tonight I did. This is what I am going to write to you: I am sorry It is not a review.
I remember when I was young and I dreamed of a world, of love, of a future.
I remember swimming in the river with my friends.
I remember getting married.
I remember when my daughter was born and I held her for the first time.
I remember how scared I was of doing something wrong.
I remember the feeling of my son inside my big belly when he came along.
I remember burying a daughter of my heart when her life should have just started.
I remember watching my kids grow up.
I remember the day I got told I had cancer.
I remember the day my hair fell out.
I remember the big operation where I was left with scars so big and empty places where my babies grew.
I remember the loss of my beloved dog and my beloved rat only a few days ago.
I remember the day I got my job.
I remember my kid's first days at school.
I remember everything.
Tonight I am sad, for many reasons. I am tired of working. I am tired of struggling. I am tired of a body that is older and has pains and does not work as well as I wish it to. I am sad because I have menopause. I am sad because not enough people are reading my book. I am sad because tomorrow I must hold my daughter's hand when they put her dog to sleep. She has had the dog since she was 4 years old. It will hurt her.
Then I read this. I read your work. You speak to me. You spoke to the child I was, to the teenager I used to be. The young woman with a brand new family. The woman who once did not know the names of chemo drugs. The woman who knows all these things and has had all these experiences.
I am a stranger, and so are you, but in this work, in your words, you have bound me and you together. Do me a huge favor, and go out to your family and tell them. Go to your friends and tell them. Go to the spaces where you are alone and scream that you are the spirit of a writer. You are a poet, you are incredible. I have no idea how someone so young can reach so far, but you did. All the versions of the woman I am and all the choices that have led me to this moment, are eternally grateful to you for this gift. This is not a book. This is a spiritual gift of memory and it is exquisite.
I can not review this. This is beyond a review, this is more. The words to speak of how amazing this is, I don't have those words. All I can do is go sit outside in my garden and be grateful I encountered you.
Thank you forever.