peelings

And peeling the potatoes
I found myself thinking of  layers mash
And remembering all  those chickens
And the  bantams
And the game bird
Blue and green eggs
And someone telling me not go in the coop
Wearing red toe paint.
The fox that killed them all
The giant goat mad with grief
The black kitten dragging in a rabbit
Twice his size.
The welsh settle,
Riddling the aga.
The enormous fireplace that we could all stand in and look up at the moon.
Mike's joke about the shovel.
Your joke about my mince pies.
The pink front bedroom
The sloping bathroom floor
The pub sign I painted
Your yellow van
Your blue green eyes
Your dark celt heart.
A tarnished wedding band
That I no longer wear
And a welsh last name
That I no longer bear.

Another Place; Lilac Wine

I will take refuge in you here
And we will be quiet together.
There will be a gently ticking clock,
The breathy sigh of pages turning
And the tinkling ring of spoons
Against lustrous roseate china.
We will be held in the loving embrace
Of the old chintzed and shabby sofa
With its secret nesting corners
And its glorious overblown cushions.

And through the open windows
French , wooden, eau de nil,
A drifting sky will ruffle curtains
And gift the aching heady scent of lilacs.

We will not speak, we need no words
But when at last the end of day
Sees light slip stealthily to another place
You will catch the book as it closes and falls,
Press your cool fingers against my flushed and beating brow, my wearied eyes.

And I will cast myself adrift
On your strength, your life, your youth,
Rapt to the end with the aching heady scent of lilacs.