Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Second chance

I asked him to cut back the tree

and so let in the light.

I heard the axe thud, saw branches

that once bore mulberries fall.


The erythrina below, struggling for so long in shadow

gulped sun like a thirsty child.

Its thorns glinted fierce as secateurs,

needling a flutter of new green leaves, unsteady hearts.


His half-day’s work done,

he dressed in the shed,

took my folded fifty rand note, proud.

He looked up as I shut the gates, waved, was gone.

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