Summer Weekends
On the weekends my grandfather rose early,
dressing himself in his old weekend clothes.
Then with tapered-fingered hands and a
body aching with age he set about gardening.
I'd wake up to the sounds of wood being
chopped for the wood stove,
We always had a weekend roast no matter what the season but
as a concession granddad would make me a summer fruit salad
with peeled green grapes,
like I was Mae West.
All day I'd tag along behind him as he weeded and
lovingly dead-headed the roses. I distinctly recall that as the heat
beat down, him taking off his shirt revealing a lean
sun-striped upper body.
I can see him now leaning in on the garden hoe
deep in thought as he smoked a cigarette with quiet relish.
I never wanted to leave his side on those days,
our quiet chatty times together
away from my two mothers and the chronic
erupting anger of the house.
- Valli Poole 2019
Valli Poole is an Australian poet and publisher of a small press Blank Rune Press. She has been published in Australia and internationally
No comments:
Post a Comment