General   (General discussion, talk about anything.)

THE COUNTING HOUSE


You fuss,
over dumplings,
as the spelt flour flows freely through your
fingertips.
You crunch on an apple-
peel a soft mandarine,
and suck on a piquant peach.
Still,
you seem out of my reach.

Out of the grey shadows of memory,
you cast your aura of light
into a tiny room.
Half-forgotten once,
your voice is clearer now,
mature and soft-toned.
You remember as I remember, things once unknown:
a scrapbook of beauty queens-
you,
elegant and flush-faced under the spotlight.
'You'll never win', he told you...
as they placed the tiara on your sweet head.
I count the losers on the photograph,
and the steps you climbed to take your crown.
I count the apples in your bowl of fruit; the forks and spoons
in your tiny draw.
And I count the passing minutes
in this last hour.

You give me your goodnight gift of a sweet cake
and fresh bread-
and I count the days that lie ahead.
I count the nights
I count the stars
I count the candles still lit.
Outside,
the moon is up.
As I leave,
I count the pots of flowers
that line the path
that leads to your
house...


Jarvo 2021