Sitting on the moist top of balcony view
Fern covered, in my warddrobe I stare there at
Each station holding me fast to numbers and dominoes played in the evening
In yard - a shed with my chickens hatching and pecking fed scrumptously on corns
My feet tonight are lifted on a stool cushion
And the air is hot to the point of stifling
Fish don't come cheap these days and were told all things stop at 8pm until the Church Preachers cry out at 7
Complaints are dancing on lips of locals of ''how to enjoy this rising of Christ?, this Easter''
Mine tonight is finding happy
Lifting the glad
You stand looking up at me
Seen your gorgeous eyes
Our musket gun is held; framed on the wall
And Charlie Chaplins funny walk brings laughter to my mind and fingers jitter
I think of stitching
Hold a hanky to my nose to sniff at Lavendar
Tight stationery pens in middle of the table as a grandchild softly sleeps beneath a concrete roof
The tin of my own is all hot and heated and I wonder if the cockrel crow
Will know there is nowehere to go
Sweat drips down my throat line and lies inside a wrinkle
No flights out to sunny boy in Canada!
Frog jumps and bay leaf trees suggest to flooded vases
We see each house little and frail almost as my agile yet ageing body
Behind shutters painted a blue, green, purple or red or yellow
As if sea huts on a beach
Another grandchild tells me after her dissapointments in city and finance that her success
Succseeded her and this is her destination of respite
My lap and land
We each our community close
Hold hands in prayer that are invisible and I reach clutch and reach
As if each child is there
Reach not to be entwined or dictated to.