- late ferns
I take a break, hazelnut coffee hot
wafting, but not obliterating the
strong aroma of chopped ivy that
clings to my hair and clothes, stains green on the
ancient shears, now propped in the porch while I
unravel before the howling women
of Roland Garros. The orange court bright,
garish on my screen, hosts the world’s richest
sports-woman, pretty in pink, on her way
to more kudos and cash as a sound guy
struggles, one two, one two, in the cold
and French mumbles the score. My eyes seek out
the restful green of my rampant garden
my ears strain past the thwack and grunt, for
rustle of bamboo, the patter of rain.
I take a break, but my focus remains
outside. And all of us waiting on sun.