It's Still Life

They

have returned to the limed white walls
tumbling over with bougainvillaea,
and sunlight bright
as bare electric lights

where nights are cold as a cellar floor
and days are warmed by
the generous breath
of honeyed trees

and a girl’s hips and feet
are born to the rhythms
of salsa and merengue
sultry and spicy

they are back home
where the Andes throb with rain.

The end of the July Diaries with my grandchildren. 66-words. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter