Resident Fairies
My home, oasis in the middle of concrete desert. 'Still at the old house?', they ask me - Little do they know I am so proud and smug That I live in the hand- me-down decrepit Where my grandmother and other ghosts linger.
I see them; there he is, my father, hopping down From the coconut frond to nibble the leftover rice There she is, my mother, the bossy Jungle Crow Trying to edge out the squirrel.
Grandmother comes in the evening, hooting, Espying from behind the tree leaves Muttering to herself, uttering inaudible curses At me, her grandson, that impractical dreamer.
They are all there, cousins and aunts Maids and men, children and dogs. They come as they wish, As fairies and birds and butterflies.
Later, when the sun goes down I hear them, flitting in and out Silently, like flickering memories In and out, of my old mango tree.
Who you might be, pretty Jay, Quietly sitting, looking at me?