Becoming, by Fiona Lindsay

The Vegetable Patch

His shoulders roll like the ocean

Heaving out the guts of the earth

He places seed tatties in uniform lines

Moves the land like he is the moon

And it is the obedient tide

I plittered through the shallows

Finding fragments of patterned china

The ghosts of tea-sets from long-gone residents

I’d share imaginings of tea in the parlour

domestic visions of a colourful charade of characters

Sometimes he would pause

Almost listening

Rest his weight on the trunk of a spade

I chattered like a bird

Through the seasons

I filtered more treasures from the ground

A blue and white windmill

With metal blades that spun

An elephant with painted shapes and missing legs

A silver button with a horse

—probably from a soldier

I filled the frosty air with stories

One morning from the window

I saw him planting treasures in the earth for me to find

Some people don’t speak love out loud.

by Fiona Lindsay