Bougainvillea ...
bloom of the Pacific
enveloping, all around
Red as a dancer’s lips
purple as a dowager’s
Then
I saw only the red of the houses,
I saw only the red of the houses,
the roofs
and prim purple balls
of hydrangea,
the suburban flower
How it intrigued me
the colours they turned
depending on the soil
depending on what they put
in the water
Nor did I see much of the water
though it was there
all around
crossing the street I could see it
a calm iridescence beckoning
though I didn’t dare
Magnolia, frangipani
intoxicating jasmine
Purple-belled jacarandas
the blue of clamshells, periwinkles,
scattered and bruised to an
orange-brown.
The sea surrounding
clumps of green on the shores
red bricks rendered mud-grey,
teal-trimmed.
And freeways to daunt one,
giddy escalators, heels hovering,
caught in the old days
between the slats.
Could trip you up, that,
and did, and now
I am back,
a stranger again.
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