colour me kindness

My mother’s cheeks are warm and pink

under the crisp white sheets

in the billowing blue morning wind.

She shakes them out and over the silver line

to sun-dry in the golden day of pudgy helplessness.

Deep brown coffee grounds in a flannel bag

smell like morning and chicken and mieliepap.

We walk over green hills to visit him and her and the next

thing we know we are in a field of yellow buttercups

of sugar and tea and half a loaf of bread.

Tear stained hands and purple sweaters in Checkers bags,

red faced pimply mornings running from fire cracker eyes,

the noses in the crisp white air,

the fall, the pick up, the mint green Turkish delight

and cotton candy kindness on sharp wooden sticks.

You were a friend to me,

and I remember you fondly

with all the red dress wide eyed gap toothed memories of yesteryear.


3 thoughts on “colour me kindness

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