Behind mud-brown portraits

Of long dead ancestors, insects breed.

Burst larvae and a scatter of whisper wings.

As also silver fish between pages of generally unopened books, cockroaches

In the kitchen climbing out of warm food-smelling corners.

Every time I think of the house I feel my left arm

itch with the red bite of the spider,

Six-legged sentinel of the garden bench.

This house will one day be overtaken by insects

They said:

Red ants and termites, centipedes and dragonflies

Mosquitoesdung – beetleswasps and nameless

Grey-brown scavengers crawling over bodies of dead mice.

We also remember how, one morning we found a beehive

dropping gold and sweetness

between the thigh-like branches of a mango tree.