You took my language and relayed it like
A used gift re-wrapped,
Old words heard afresh
As you commanded the soldiers of vocabulary
Though the troops weren’t originally your own.
Words first your body followed behind
And in the bends of us
We surrounded the hollow spaces,
Stared down the void, realised
That it could be penetrated, pushed apart and made whole
To give yourself away.
I am watching you now as you weld potatoes into food,
Hovering around a hot stove,
I am savouring the all of you
In the scent of wild spices and earth
That wind their way from a silver pot to where I sit.
Syllables salting the clatter of cutlery
We spoon the results onto two plates:
A shared life, uncompromised.
India Doyle is a writer and freelance arts journalist. You can find more of her work here.