Tricia Allen


Ghosts float across these lines
sour-faced shadows
float across this house

white as the night
heavy with dust
and the scent of rain

Ghosts swallow smiles
gnaw at my lines
mouths full of teeth.

the colour of drought

When she arrive, she wear disguise:
her face covered with bandana
yellow dress swinging in evening breeze
yellow dress clinging to skin
You would think she is festival queen
The way she moving in the breeze
Everybody come look
because they never see a woman tall so
and proud so wearing the sun in her skin
You ask her to wine her hips
and you play music,
beating the drums deep into the night

So she dance for you,
twisting her hips
loosening the yellow
revealing nakedness
the colour of terracotta  
and yet she getting hotter still
wearing the sun in her smile

You feel like is fire inside you
a fire twisting                                                                                                                                                                                                         you insides into ash
a fire that sucking the earth beneath you dry
But you watch her dancing                                                                                                                                                                               

                                      still mesmerized by her nakedness
or was it the sunlight in her yellow dress?