Souvenirs

(for John and Anne Willett)

Chocolate sardines, torn election-posters MAR
CHAIS, huddled sheep before a distant sepia
view of Pourville. The yellow-and-grey world
of Lords and Ladies on the wallpaper in
the lingerie. Lemon light. Night hydrangeas.
The smell of the ferry, scrubbed mussels
deep blue in a white bowl in the electric kitchen,
where moths beat against the windowpane. Blinding
rain that wipes away the cliffs at Etretat.

Green depths of evening sous-bois, tall trees
that shutter the light along the banks outside
the villages. A black workman's suit, a sailor's cap
bought beside St Jacques. Oeufs de Pâques.
Andouillettes, and mackerel cooked with driftwood
on the beach. Each stone that I've brought home
since 1968. Late light across the harvestfields
from Ambrumesnil. Cattle dream, creamy as caramel.
The smell across the valley from the Nescafé factory.

The tall gingko tree that split ten years ago,
one twin trunk that still lies overgrown,
immutable as memory.

from Not Fade Away, Poems 1989-1994. Published by Bloodaxe Books 1994.