Dusk

 

Spidery fingers blot their sticky ink over the vermilion horizon,

A dragonfly alights daintily on a jewelled blade of grass.

The sun retreats demurely to its divine cavern of clouds,

Playing tag with our shadows, skipping through the weary trees.

A faded pink bicycle bowing its embarrassed head on a grassy hillside,

I can hear the harsh call of the collared kingfisher.

And steal a glimpse of her palms, blushed in fuchsia,

As she lights the poignant incense.

Solemn dinner served in blighted tin plates,

As the ancient grandfather clock strikes seven.

A stirring etude on the creaky piano,

My grandmother smiles.

The sunset sheds its dress of rays and pools at her youthful feet.

 © Zelda Reville