Heat

Her kitchen faced north - a haven in the heat.
The door to outside stood ajar
And you could hear the wind moving through the trees.

She spent much time in here, my Grandmother.
When the men folk played boccia on a pine needle carpet,
Amusing themselves in the forest's shade,
She cooked their lunch and entertained me.

We laid out the table in the dining room
And it was here that my love-affair
With blue glass first began.

In the afternoon she ran cold water
From the pump over my wrists
And gave me the end piece of a cucumber to eat.
We pretended it was ice-cream.

The swing-seat was filled with tie-less men.
Braces over white shirts and rolled-up sleeves.
They sipped cognac with Vichy water from tall glasses
And told tall stories,
As we washed up blue glasses for the evening meal.
My Grandmother and I.