So the trouble is
There are people
Who want something
New
From me

But I can't.

Because you've only been dead
76 days and
At night I smell your hospital skin
And see your eyes
How they looked
When I knew you were thinking,
"What a clever girl I have"
And hear your voice
That's turning yellow
And powdery
Like the bare-footed
Childhood kikuyu when
Winter stroked our
Highveld garden

So you have to be my subject.
Because I'm tugging at the roots
You're fertilizing now.