And so, health.
And the discussion with mum’s friend,
Who has survived beyond her,
Turns to the evolution of mattresses,
Goose down,
Luxurious but bad for your back,
Foam,
Sometimes current but initially,
Uncomfortable,
Has silver hair that frames,
Her ice blue eyes perfectly,
And deep wrinkles around her mouth,
That light any room she’s in.
Ripe fruit can be determined by the smell of it.
A mango,
At the right time,
Will flood a kitchen with aromas that colour,
The entire home,
Dispersed into cupboards and,
Dispensed across living room sofas,
They can make you forget what you are doing as you,
Iron sheets,
Raising smiles in every nook and cranny…
If we live long enough,
Aliens may come with fruits,
That excite Amygdalas,
And titilate glands,
Caressing more than nasal passages,
Creating new sensations.
Out walking this morning,
Healthy and feeling good,
I remembered my sister and her fight with cancer,
And the frustration she expressed,
Not with the pain,
But with the body that would not allow her,
To spend time the way she wanted,
Time with her mother,
Her lover,
Her brother…
Out walking I was thinking,
A million dollars can change everything,
I feel now though that,
I’d be happier with health.
So.
Health.
♦picture – Eartha Kitt, Wikipedia♦
evocative short poetry – words move
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