I Will Eat Aubergines. Poem by Sue Stone

So for you,
My darling….

I will learn to prune my own acers,
and hover between Japonicum and Palmatum
and know in which soil each plant will grow best.
I will learn to savour 'quality' red wine,
appreciating Merlots, Shiraz, pinotage
and, every year on your birthday, a good ‘Baron Phillipe'.
I will soak stilton in port each Christmas
and grimace as I tentatively taste it.
You've spent years trying to convince me of it's merit.
I'll watch rugby, screaming, ‘Come on boys! '
as Wales score the winning try,
and, more often, when they don't.



I will learn to plant, reap and harvest
in the allotment that was your pride and joy,
and revel in the bright fruits of that labour.
I will cherish winter sunshine on my face
and murmur, every year, ‘Hasn't Spring come early?
The rhododendron in my garden rival Cefn On Park! '
I will dance with righteous indignation
when ‘mare's tail' wreaks it's chaos in your garden
And set about it's demise with paraquat.
I will contemplate the flourish of
virgin rose buds opening,
welcoming Summer's courtship.

I will shake my head, irritated
at cars blasting boom box music; foreign sound,
invading the peace, in the place of your birth,
and lament, 'one never sees police men now! '
I will learn to climb mountains, real and imagined,
and at Autumn's summit, lean back and marvel at the view.
I will laugh out loud at Spike Milligan,
Tom and Jerry cartoons and the two Ronnies,
and carouse with songs of the great Tom Lehrer.


This child becomes reluctant parent,
I stand in this spotlight you now leave me in;
harshness of glare making salty tears burn.
Unbearable fear at taking centre stage.
I will cherish my Mother every day,
of my life; in times when she looks sadly backwards, gently pull her forwards.
I will join hands with the family that is ours;
As I rejoice in the privilege of being your child.
I will grow and aspire sunwards in the warmth of your memory,
Forty years of sunlight. This winter will end?
I will lift my gaze to the horizon as I wait for the Spring that will come with time.

Until my own seasons close, then I will have only one wish;
That you meet me at life's end.