Half-a-lime

Pops - circa 1990

I'm sharing this poem because in 5 days it will be 18 years since my father died and this was written for him - my first reader/listener. (It's taken from my collection The Makings of You, published by the fantastic Peepal Tree Press in late 2010). Last week I felt a sudden urge to buy a whole bag of limes and I've been going through them fast. I rationalised it by telling myself I was forestalling any colds that may come, but today it suddenly struck me why; my internal clock was telling me to remember Pops - funny how the littlest things can bring one solace!

Half-a-lime

His pen moves as fast as darkness scatters.

Three fleshy creases mark his forehead

as he leans pensively forward

like a question mark filled with life.

The cocks have crowed; in the streets

brooms raise dust. I rise early

I want to be the first to see him

smile, see his small, white teeth

expose themselves without inhibition

like nudists on a beach of gums.

Pigeons gather… the sun summons

its light. I head outside.

I can see him before I see him;

yesterday’s paper to his left,

a pen in his right hand

and sheaves of paper awaiting stains

The dew rises like fleeting

possibilities in the new heat.

He’s waiting. I like the song he hums;

the tenor harmony of a Jimmy Smith solo.

Silent, he passes his clean mug to me.

We’ll talk between hot sips of tea.

The kettle boils; loaded

bubbles of speech waiting to burst.

I make two cups: black, no sugar

with half-a-lime squeezed in each.

His mouth forms a vaginal shape as he sips

the heat, the promise of a new day.

Something warm passes from father to son.

Silence becomes an enduring memory.

And this week, I buy seven perfect limes. One

for every new day. I will slice them in two

each morning, squeeze one half for me, and one

half into an empty cup. For the memories.

what i'm reading/listening to
listening:
Miles Davis - Kind of Blue

reading:
Mongo Beti