Potage Andalouse
Papa grew pumpkins, gourds and melons,he had grapes in the greenhouse
and dahlias and geraniums, in pots.
In the summer, on young plants he would
engrave my initials on the pumpkins
so that when they grew big and orange
it would form a scar that stretched
my name a sign of nature healing.
Papa would sometimes mix seeds,
one year we had gourds that were melons
and melons that were gourds
but the pumpkins grew
personalised and gifted straight to me
A potage Andalouse
with crispy bread and toasted cubes
of cheese croutons, while the shell
was hollowed and filled with light
on all Hallows Eve and childhood
memories, long since evaporated.
Poetry by Elle
Read 234 times
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Written on 2022-10-24 at 18:14
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Editorial Team |
ken d williams |
josephus |
Uncle Meridian |
Griffonner |
shells |
Lawrence Beck |
jim |
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by Elle Latest textsHillsNot the End Cinders Oh perfect Day Happy Christmas |
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