My sister's house


The flashing silver roof
dazzles its hard light
above the opulence
of frangipani, poinsiana and palm;
clustering tightly
to the timber house.
Little different from
its companions,
modestly painted,
geometrically aligned,
except this prolific greenery
crowding fence and roof,
lapping walls in shadow.

This cooler darkness relieves us
of the midday sun.
Step into it,
eyes widen, skin softens,
ears hum with insect life.
A huddling, shadowed screen, it
wraps privacies breathlessly close,
harbouring mysteries,
fostering fecundity.
Heavy with implacable love,
this spicy darkness entices us to linger,
pressing uncertainty to our lips.


© 1999 Gillian B King

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