at the kirstenbosch café

by Lise Day

The woman at the next table
glances over and says:
‘I love the sound of women’s laughter’

And I think
it’s not coarse
like the laughter of men in pubs
or forced
in response to stand-up comics
it’s not a snigger
at another’s misfortune
nor is it entirely innocent
as a child’s giggle

It’s our shared delight
which wafts upwards
through the honey-bush scent
briefly tangled in the pin cushion proteas
before floating free to the blue mountain.


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