She walks the way ofandaatje
 
she walks the way of andaatje
maybe the similarity comes in
their having immigrated beyond
their known world into the vast
unlimited unknowingness of a far
country where destiny led them.
each brought the flavor of their roots
the swaths of colors from their
beginnings, the juxtaposes and blends,
acute awareness of their differences.
that montage of cultural variances,
that at the time seemed an impediment
yet soon began to birth the gutsy brooding
intensity that was to become their paths.
he has that disheveled look, wild like a
street car named desire, and she- well she has
that lithe almost fragile look that seems to
congregate in the women of this particular era
yet she sways in bright shades, rife with colors
and that way of being that one has who was born
in a tropical country.  the heart a poet and novelist
beats within each of them.  she his admirer,
she writes her naked words that spill on pages as
she says- caressed with fire
her acute awareness of his language use brings
the same chills to her body as a lover on a steamy
summer night. she writes that she is caressed by fire.
while he may have been penning 'in the skin of a lion'
her soul has been dancing her ripe red dance in the purple
gown, she floats in myth and lore and the grit of life
she loves to write like andaatje!