As I test the fruit for ripeness,
a certain give
beneath the fingertips
the way you taught me,
suddenly I'm looking up at you.
Your perfect legs,
your tiny waist,
your broken heart.
Pausing outside the greengrocer
you shiver in the February rain
beneath a canopy
of English grey.
You will not go on pushing
this cumbersome pram
up the endless hill, however hard
I cry. You are weighing up
the absurd cost
of one small piece of Africa,
the cold storage taste of home
and working on your best smile.
From Equinox No 14 (September 2006)