the colour of
I notice her because she doesn’t have a dog
in an afternoon of dog-walkers
and she’s wearing a yellow coat
it looks like a good coat, I know that much
maybe the yellowest coat ever sewn
she’s alone, stamping along the river bank
where the path’s muddy
but what does a good coat
and all that saturated colour care for mud
she’s talking on her phone
and I’m sorry it’s not me on the other end
as she strides right through
the afternoon and into something else
taking all the daffodils with her
Cindy Botha was raised in Africa and now lives in New Zealand. She began writing while caring for her mother through dementia years. Her poems appear in magazines and anthologies in NZ, Australia, the UK and USA.