Sarah, on a Regular Basis
Rhaid i’r dryw gael ei lyw.
A warm cake made with fruit and syrup
nestles under my jacket.
Hide under a hood of rhododendron for a moment.
It drips. The lane.
‘There is rain in my pockets.’
‘You need to put it in a poem, instead.’
Thick slices with butter, mugs of tea.
Her cracked hands.
Her in the house, me outdoors.
This time last year, a farmer neighbour
in her hallway, after her husband cleared off—
Do you need a kiss, Sarah?
His wife, in her last trimester.
Two hen’s eggs laid blue-green
fitting side by side
in her palm.
Her real lover, another; younger, farmer
knows nothing of this.
The forestry after intense sun
immobilised, caught in trees
another country ticks underfoot.
limestone, slate, heat-radiant—
fy milltir sgwâr
She walks my stone steps.
Jam-jar of Sweet William,
glass bottle for well water,
ceramic plate which held pie. Cloth mask.
‘We may never re-open our houses.’
This time last year, we Mary’d the lamb
delighting the holiday children.
Persisting, she feeds another fledgling jackdaw.
In time, woods and lane
fill with nurse birds
who answer to the sound of her voice—
‘Will he want that kiss now, Sarah?’
penyblwydd hapus happy birthday
fy milltir sgwâr home turf (literally— ‘my square mile’)
Rhaid i’r dryw gael ei lyw: (proverb) A wren must have its tail.
Suzanne Iuppa is a poet, community worker and conservationist living in the Dyfi Valley, mid Wales.
Her poems can be found in literary magazines including The Lampeter Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Zoomorphic, Slipstream, The Lake and many others. She enjoys watching foxes, badgers and pine martens visiting her garden at this time of year, and writes her first full poetry collection with a very loud goshawk for company.
Facebook: Refuge / poetry by Suzanne Iuppa