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.
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