The Raspberry On The Window Sill - Poem by Keith Johnson
And so after twenty years I returned to her cottage
There is an otherness to its steps and roof and lights
But the porch still creaks, the awning still moves in the wind.
I am twelve again – I run barefoot across the rough ground
Having picked raspberries and held them in the palm of my hand.
I stretch up to the kitchen window and there is grandma at the stove
I put one raspberry on the window sill as a keepsake
And then I hide. The time has gone to pick gooseberries
Eat veggie soup or water the garden flowers.
But this scene will always be with me.
Still we must gather and eat - there will be black bread with white salt and golden oil
And loved ones around the fire – though here the hearth is cold and we have parted.
I simply can’t pick gooseberries without grandma.
The house grew tired of waiting for me but now at least it is happy
That I am standing in the kitchen sensing a whiff of home-made soup.
[Translation / adaptation of a poem by the contemporary Russian poet Anna Horwitz]
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