It makes no sound, the alien, dripping
in kaleidoscopic marble. Light and distance
ripple between us that bends my eyes.
It just stands there, on the orange dirt floor
of my home, mute, frozen, a monument
to an arrival – its stillness, its statement.
A faceless head is installed on a slight
upright frame that mirrors mine. Mesmerised
I float in a pool of midday sun, staring at it,
into the mirror, through the window,
to an awakening, that
I am the alien.
Athol Williams is a South African poet currently completing a PhD in Political Philosophy at Oxford University. He has published four books of poetry, received four literary awards and had poems published in over forty literary publications internationally. Athol holds graduate degrees from Harvard, MIT, LSE, London Business School and Oxford.
This article was featured in Matter Thoughts Issue 1 – Horizons