Orange The evening wore an orange light That seemed to sit upon the air that we breathe So effortlessly, so lightweight. The Autumn drizzle was fulfilling its duty As it pierced silently through the orange light. My mother had asked me to deliver a piece of bread To my eighty-seven year old grandmother Who had been ill for quite some time now. The cold weather had gotten the better of her! My grandmother’s house was next to ours. It was raining so I had to take an umbrella. My umbrella was orange with light-orange floral prints. I entered my grandmother’s home and into her room Where she slept in bed with an orange blanket. She didn’t seem very ill to me. I sat with her for a couple of minutes, And listened to her usual words which spoke of hard work, success and spirituality. She says it all the time, how my sister’s name and mine are mentioned in her prayers more times a day, than once. My grandmother then raised
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