I SAY COURGETTE AND YOU SAY ZUCCHINI

I can think of one or two things that I'd rather do than to bake.
This morning it seems I have little choice; The Guild has a sale
and the in-laws will come from Dumfries.

I open the fridge door and I am amazed how it sparkles in here.
(The in-laws will come from Dumfries.)
With what will I bake?
Five beautiful small courgettes? Yes, with five beautiful courgettes.

I know exactly where it is,
although I have not used it for many years,
your typed recipe for Zucchini Bread.

And as I measure American Cups of grated courgettes
I remember your house in Yattendon. England's Peace.
Where you chose to live instead of "in-house"
at the air-base on Greenham Common.

As I whisk eggs with sugar and add oil
I remember your young children, and mine,
in the village school. Your JJ's nativity shepherd:
"Hey guys! Have ya seen that star?!!"

In goes the flour, mixed with soda and cinnamon,
and I think of your husband pruning roses
in the garden of England's Peace - with his chainsaw.

Chopped nuts. Us with the boys at Windsor Safari Park,
watching the dolphins outwit their keepers.

As the cake goes into the oven I think of how we both left our Agas behind.
How our lives interwove for just a few years. Two decades ago.
We are now to be found on mountain sides, near rivers, separated by an ocean.
It is time perhaps that one of us crossed it...

If I knew you were coming I would bake a cake.