Poeyum

We walk, together, to the greenhouse
to pick ripe jewels for dinner,
warm and earthy,
the best 
                I ever ate.

A haul fit for a maharaja's palace.
You give me one while I wait, impatient.
For a moment I am wrapped in it,
ensconced in the scent and taste of tomatoes.

And every year, as summer seeps in,
I sit and eat tomatoes
and think of you.

You let me feed the doves before supper.
I pour my hands into the sack of grain,
reaching into the cool, dusty river
for my prize.

Feet cold on the hard stone floor, 
my shoes abandoned in the garden,
I am ordered into wellies to cross the gravel.
They are up to my thighs, 
but I am not deterred.

You teach me to be quiet, 
birds are timid.

We must plant our food and wait for them to return,
our reward is the joy of sustaining
and of giving.

I suppose.

I must dress for supper and sit, 

I scarf nuts and ginger beer 
and go to the Chinese cabinet,

Where treasure is abundant.

You will not notice one missing 
Mingle. 

Maybe two.

Dinner is fresh from the garden.
An unchanging routine. 
We eat together.

Now I know, 
that is the best
                            we ever were.

To me, you are long walks 
to the orchard 
in someone else's boots.
Tracking your silk scarf to the top of the hill,

a quiet routine.

Set to the tick of the hallway clock.

Home in time for tea, 
and two scones for me.

Your home, my palace of dreams,
from the duck pond 
to the long grass

Past the rose garden
And along walls lined with fruit trees.

You were royal in it.

A constant.

The best 
                we could have had.