Edited - I've changed the sequence...hopefully an improvement. |
Dear son, Dear child Where will you go once your lips have shed the heady yellow paw-paw juice and reality has gleaned the smile from chanting over jumping ropes? Your sun-bare feet in their bare baked ways, will they and your knees remember threading through the old man's swing while he squints from the baked verandah and the Hoopoe begs from the compost heap. Dear Friend, Young man With your rounded, smiling wife, white Frangipani flowering behind her ear and Golden resting halo on her hand Her song skips through the baked-earth dust to you the soapstone life adoringly engraved within, yours and hers, mouths and vows and dreams cast in nets beneath the violet Jacaranda Dear Friend, Old Man With your whitened pupils and the orange Sky that greets you through the haze, your Crackling laugh The reception from some other-worldly satellite Together we squint, threading dreams through the generation swing and under the orange Avocado blooms, half-listen to the softly velum footsteps from and to your pantry, to find the Nice biscuits in the green striped tin where the fly nets take their rest from your Whit leather hands. Dear child unborn In the moments where he squinted, waiting to join his spirit to his shell, The chongololo and the blindworm whispered you to him. They rumoured you may not have been, the Frangipani not conceived her and Yesterday, tomorrow's reverie choked the orange Mandrake fruit to spit their blood on birthing skies and the fly net in the pantry will never know your name. |