Strings

growing old together
they were like the pond’s greenish water
where they were fishing on either sunny or rainy days
sometimes playing string hand games
with threads deftly entangled over the wedding rings
unwinding quickly like his short and tender whistle
calling her from far while she was answering the same
in the afternoon they were sipping coffee under the vine arcade
adding gradually more pepper and lovage in their soup
more red paint on the Easter eggs

there was a too tall fir in the backyard
hiding a small golden apple tree
the fruit of which they never tasted
usually they spent their time in the front garden
he stretching strings for vegetable beds always straight
she planting round small onion bulbs
keeping in mind every tomato growing mellow
or how heavy was the gooseberry how grubby were bergamot pears
counting everything
apart from winters when she was knitting bootees
footsteps were softer on the floor
they were gathering old photographs
expired seed envelopes more and more dried clover threads
for unknown reasons they used to find so often
four leaves clover in the garden

she had green eyes like a murky sea
he had warm chocolate eyes
the hair of both was turning gray very slowly
that dark fir kept much freshness
a small sapling started to grow under it
hand in hand they were stepping deeper in the gum boots
mole crickets were showing their heads between tomatoes
wasps were gathering dessert grapes
pegs used for strings were rotting
like embers taken out too early from the fireplace

their mother is still counting years
painting her saints icons
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I selected this post to be featured on my blog’s page at Poetry Blogs.
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Categories: My Poems in 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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