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 Iím dying


            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 love


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