ON A WICKER ROCKING CHAIR...

 

On a wicker rocking chair

grandma takes a breather at noon

fanning her jolly smile of moon

with a piece of cardboard, the air

teeming with glowworms and dust.

The fan stained with sunflower

oil. 

      In the porch shaded by a bower

of orange jasmine,

                           she smells the gust

of perfumed rain and mangos and sea.

Flies and words land upon her fan.

She talks with herself sipping tea:

"What a scorcher"-and stares to the sun

glowing red through the sky. On the rocking

chair my grandma nurses a nap stroking

my straggly hair, a black cat.

                                             She beguiles

the boredom with a big moony smile.