Ethnic Cafeteria

Masked Native

 

During a spring shower in Holland Park,

I take shelter in clamorous chatter

Of an ethnic cafeteria,

buy orange juice and chocolate,

drink coffee from a paper cup.

After the rain; the scent of tree-lined paths.

Bright green leaves drip on rainbows of tulips

in rectangle boxes of damp earth beds.

On a long wooden bench in the water garden,

two men eat white bread sandwiches spread

on newspaper laps.

Watch the three-tiered fountain splash lily pads

like diamonds in a dance.

Some of the shrubs are still here, he said.

Spring bulbs multiply every year.

Even after the big storm,

most of the trees remain,

but it’s not the same.

All these people,

and no-one to remember my name.

The ground remembers,

His companion said.

The ground remembers everything.

Every step, and every stone.

Every flower, and every tree.

Even you and me.

First published in ‘Listening To…

View original post 15 more words

About maskednative

I live in Ireland, in an extended cottage overlooking Waterford Estuary, privvy to constant changes of light on water, colour and movement, tides and people. I am anglo-Irish and although my initial intention was to live here for a year and a day, I am still here, a blow-in to these shores for the past fifteen years. There have been countless times when I wanted to run back to England with homesickness and relief, but for one reason or another, so far, it has not been possible. I surrender, the soul of Ireland has captured me, allowed a glimpse of the world behind the mask of everyday experiences, bringing forth a mixture of words and pictures from an ordinary everyday life, filled with ordinary everydayness that I offer as a celebration, to the creator of this truly wonderful planet.
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