Martha LandmanI met a Spanish sailor
deep in his thirties
In a Christian coffee bar
where young people
spread The Word
on Pretoria streets,
me a dewy-eyed farm girl.
Forget Bible bashing, he said
when he walked me home that night.
Go to Soweto instead,
feed the hungry
dress the poor.
Years later I unclutter.
Three letters he wrote me from out at sea
one page each, soft blue paper, cursive writing,
nothing of the fatherly talk that night
in the boarding house garden.
For years he stayed with me, this stranger
I met only once, sun-wrinkled blue eyes.
I wonder about gallantry,
the state of Soweto now,
how lives touch.
What Do You Think?
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