Words under pressure #22

We’re back, a day earlier than expected, but I couldn’t face another night away.

So teeth were gritted, pedal was pushed to metal, pillows were plumped, and off we set. Things were not good for several sections of the journey, and least of all when we finally got home. But everything is much better now.

Home at last

Here I lie,
clean, comfortable, clothed
in soft and waistless lawn
baby-scented, still…

Here lie I
like one laid neatly out
for the coffin-maker’s
invisible art.

All aligned:
head, shoulders, waist and hips
knees and ankles wide spaced
all ruler straight

But sideways!
My burning, punished spine
ratcheted ever tighter –
unloaded after

Days of bumps,
bangs, bends, by beds enforced
winds down like clockwork –
lies level at last.

On my side
nose gratefully buried
in softest old cotton, forehead
finally uncreased.

Words under pressure #2

Well, plenty of you seemed to like the last offering.  Asking for trouble…. Now you’re getting more…

My Father’s House

The walls are tiger-striped
Where sunshine drenches blue shutters,
Oozing softly between the bars,
Warm, dust-moted, dazzling.

Air is silken, heavy,
Laden with scents of sun-hot rock,
Coffee, sea-salt, pine, new bread.
Breath it. The heart sings.

The silence is full of sounds:
Under everything, the constant rollers
Breaking onto the shore below.
Distant dogs bark, birds whistle, pines rustle, heat ticks.

Throw back the shutters.
Sun strokes the sleepy skin,
Cool tiles wake the feet with tiny grits of sand,
Rough stone balustrade under the palms.

Inhale light, sound and touch.
All fresh, vivid, beautiful, familiar.
Exhale the city, noise and dirt.
This is home, this is peace, this is summer.

Kate Chiconi

Picture 2

Quilter, gardener, experimental cook, and compulsive writer of the happenings in the Kingdom of Chiconia. Married to one very kind and indulgent husband, who turns a blind eye to my ever increasing stash of books, plants, quilting fabrics and recipes.

Welcome to the ongoing saga. Many of you have been enjoying Tall Tales from other places, but I’ve decided to bring it all together, because Chiconia is where I am, rather than a particular place.

There will be photos.  Of quilts, plants, my garden, things I’ve cooked.  There will be recipes.  There will be opinions. Lots of them.