Her Children Look For Her
Life and death are in the hands of God she said
as a boat is in the hands of the dark water,
and now her children look for her
in the zizz of her sewing-machine each evening
and the smell of cardamom.
She said: life and death are in the hands of God.
As the sun beat on the roof of the van
she closed her eyes to dream,
and her children look as the Pole Star goes up
close to the moon.
Why is the mimosa here
inside its dark frame?
So down-to-earth, it comes out workmanlike
year after year, breaks its own branches
with plumes that make the sky quiver.
Let’s sit here, on the bench, under it
to rest while you get your breath.
Winter’s over, and look, in this dustbin
someone has planted wallflowers.
There’s pollen all over your arms.