Beach Picnic at Sunset

 

There was no wine.

But a woman in fine shoes

And ornate earrings unpacked

A tiny box of jewelled, fragrant

Rice that she pecked with

Chopsticks though they’d never

Seen The Orient.

 

No-one brought music.

But a man who’d traipsed

From some dismal Scottish isle

Whistled a tuneless take on

‘Amazing Grace’ as he offered

Shortbread and giant slabs

Of cake rich enough to unite

A kingdom.

 

My share was a poor thing -

Just weak tea and shrivelled rolls -

So the lady organiser pursed her lips

And kept them sternly under wraps.

 

Later, seeing me apart,

Left wondering at the pain

In the heart of the dying sun,

The woman  who liked Chinese

Took away my hurt with a 

Sudden gift of large, sweet grapes

That we shared in the untroubled

Silence of the ripening dark.

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© Natalie Wood (26 September 2014)