Amelia Fielden

 

 

halving fruit
            my second husbandís
            way of love Ė
            hard to change habits
            so late in life



                                                            
            our dog races
            to fetch her ball again
            and again
            I donít know what I want
            until I donít get it


 

from Europe
            your daytime calling
            my deep night,
            our voices making love
            along the sea-bed


 

the diagnosis
            malignant melanoma Ė
            Iím furious
            that you wonít be here
            to hold me when

                              

crimson-breasted
            parrots in our palm trees
            at breakfast
            news of bloody battles
            surging to Baghdad


                                             

            by Okayama bridge
            in a golden snowstorm
            of gingko leaves
            a man waits patiently
            like an old lover

 

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