Friday, September 8, 2017

Lovesong Sestina (Poem)

Separately, neither one was anyone much.
One liked swimming, blue porcelain and Ceylon tea,
and worked in an office above a bakery.
The other, with an eye for beauty, sketched on Sunday,
and painted stranger's fingernails all through the week.
Both their hearts were gem-blue like the sea.

They met on a park bench by the sea.
It was a cold spring that year, and no-one much
had been about the esplanade all week.
It was natural enough, the decision to go in search of tea
Almost everywhere was closed, for Sunday,
until they found a tiny bakery.

The good scent of yeast and cinnamon from the bakery
drew them in as rain came from the sea.
The windows steamed in sticky comfort that Sunday.
They talked about nothing, or at least nothing much
of significance, as they drank their tea;
it felt like time expanded, an hour filled a week

Such a pity to have to work this week,
sighed the one who worked above the bakery.
I'd rather stay, with you, here, drinking tea -
Despite the cold and rainfall by the sea.
The artist said, With me? I can't bring much
to add to the shininess of Sunday -

Every day with you would be a Sunday
If I could, I'd be with you eight days a week -
said the swimmer, and the artist said not much
but reached a hand out, gently, in the bakery
Their fingers touching, joyous as the sea
as the lady from the kitchen poured their tea.

Eventually, they reached the limit of the tea
they could usefully drink; and wandered out into Sunday.
Dusk was sidling in, all shy-gold from the sea;
The artist said: Forget about the week -
I'll leave mine too, forgotten in the bakery
I don't know when I ever wanted this much

Then they kissed, and it was much too much
and at the same time, stardust, outside the bakery
and time folded open, and it was the first week.

- Kathy, 8/09/17

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