I watch you
through the window
tilt the heavy
basket against your hip
balance
it
as
you
go to
put the washing out.
I(in mid
brush stroke)
leave the half painted wall
to help you.
It shouts after me in bright blue.
My footsteps
silent in the grass
you
lost in
you
singing
(softly to)
yourself
an Irish air
I taught you
and that you
sing all the time.
You reach
the line
where clouds seem to hang
as if drying.
You bow
to the horizon
your bum
a glorious orange sari sun
burning
in my mind
as you
come back up
with my white shirt
kiss it
place its arm
around your waist
the other casually
caressing your shoulder
eyes closed
you dance
in some ecstasy
of memory
with this imaginary
me
I now
as real as
can be
& near
(oh my dear)
tap you
on the shoulder
ask my shirt
“May I...? ”
& cut in
whisking you away
around this green leafy ballroom.
The shirt
left staring angrily
on a rose bush
like a wild flower
as we
waltz around
this evening
in the summer of our garden
to the music
of us
laughing
laughing.
Only you could take a Wash-a-day Monday and make a beautiful love poem from it. Laughing to the music of us....is a perfect line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I read these lines where 'clouds seem to hang as if drying'.. and also the sun and the wet fresh Irish air. Lovely lines!