Do you remember that
afternoon in a long row of afternoons
when it was over thirty
and still

we were waiting for something
to fall from the sky

we’d endured the slow
hot largesse of days
and the restless nights
and the fan’s whirr
until our eyes stung paper dry

that afternoon was an oasis
we sat in the toddler’s pool
soft plastic pliant blue
brand new
in the shade of the grapevine
the water a cold surprise on our skin,

are we there yet?

my cassette deck on the back seat
plays your favourites, taped
from the radio
I’m singing along
to songs I haven’t heard
since ’74

the year we lay, pale-limbed and small,
in beds in different parts of England
each with a Christmas-new
transistor radio
pressed to a child-sized ear

last night
we shared a bed
for convenience only

you slept cocooned, your ear
pressed to the pillow
back turned to
my leaning skin

it’s raining now; I squint
through the swish of wipers
as you twist
to get something
from the car’s back seat

‘you and me babe,’ you sing
accidentally in my ear
‘how about it?’

Tricia Dearborn