What It Was
What it Was
It was the pool and the blue umbrellas,
blue awning. It was the blue and white
lifesize chess set on the terrace, wall of jasmine.
It was the persimmon and palm side by side
like two wise prophets and the view that dipped
then rose, the swallows that turned the valley.
It was the machinery of the old olive press,
the silences and the voices in them calling.
It was the water talking. It was the woman
reading with her head propped, wearing glasses.
It was the logpile under the overhanging staircase,
mist and the mountains we took for granted.
It was the blue-humped hose and the living wasps
swimming on the surface. It was the chimneys.
It was sleep. It was not having a mother,
neither father nor mother to comfort me.
http://www.mimikhalvati.co.uk/ Written at the Almassera in 2012 - shortly to be published in PN Review