Susan LaffertyRefuge. In the tropical afternoons of my childhood.
I’m sitting on soft dirt. Amid twisted roots. Under a canopy of thick, intertwined bougainvillea branches growing by the backyard fence.
Shelter. From unrelenting sun.
Shade. For afternoon play with plastic teacups and bowls. A plentiful supply of leaves and blossoms within reach.
The secret place where I can rest. And just be.
New Delhi, 2012. The electricity goes off. Right after a loud explosion. Most likely a transformer that’s blown in the neighborhood.
It’s late afternoon when shadows lengthen and shade our second floor flat. I sit in the dark. And wait.
The mental checklist forms automatically. Honed by long experience. If it’s an extended interruption of power, there are things to do.
