Goodbye to April

There, on the veranda,
in the green light,
a breath of wind
rustles the jacaranda;
purple petals flutter
and fall – like bruises
on a dew-drenched lawn.

She rocks to sleep
as the chair sings
its own, sweet elegy
to the passing of time.

Her nightgown flaps
on the line – winged
like a bird in a no-hope bid
to take to the skies.

The breeze bends
the needle-thin stems
of the new-sprung Fritallaria;
white heads bowed,
she bends with them.

Her soft, lilac shawl
slips from her arms –
slow-dances;
wooed by the thrum
of raindrops
on the old, tin roof.

Deep inside,
a malignancy grows –
spreads insidious
branches; blossom
ever-opening – pale
as dogwood and deadly
as the canker
that strangles the rose.

Her necklace glows green
through jade
that becomes her so.