Clad in faded jeans and a checkered flannel, where green and blue travelled in straight lines, his paisley cravat was an odd sight with its curled wisps of purple; reminiscent of years of yore when gentlemen sported ebony canes and shiny black top-hats that they tipped up slightly in greeting before settling down to sip whisky while ladies flipped tiles, busy at games of mahjong. Continue reading “Slow Mo”
He wondered what to grow in the small plot he’d turned over. It was a pleasant sight, clods of dirt mounded up in tidy squares; he watched worms wriggling as he gulped water, splashed his sweaty face. The sun had long since burned away all dew, it was on fire. Continue reading “Plotting”
Rainmaker dances, a wild electric dance, she courts thunder to come clap alongside her, she calls her sisters to join her trance.
There are four rainmakers dancing, their electric hair streaming wildly white, black eyes flashing as feet pound minty music.
The sound of rain pouring comes, thunder claps loudly, and black clouds roll their eyes. They blink and tears stream down, showering daily.
Grasses lay on their side beaten, thunder rattles raising rooftops until the hairs on Mothers arm stand on end. Continue reading “Raindance”
Haldee Raam and I drove back the next day. He received a phone call from his daughter, who having returned home from visiting the graveyard and finding him gone, had simply called his cell phone.
“Such a smart girl my daughter!” Haldee Raam exclaimed as we headed out of Baseerah, “Must have inherited from her mother, didn’t even occur to me to call her! Imagine, here we’ve come all the way to Baseerah to look for her, but she’d gone to visit the qabristaan! Continue reading “Moo Meetha”