A Favourite Memory

Dear Bill, it’s hard to pick
one favourite memory
out of so many,
but in twenty-seven years
of adventuring together,
a lot of them are due to you.

I wouldn’t have seen
half so much of my own country,
let alone South-East Asia,
without your unstoppable
drive and imagination,
the almost foolhardy daring

that had you, at fifteen,
new to this country, set out
to hitch-hike over the hill
from Melbourne to Sydney
and get home by dinner —
till the first driver set you straight.

But I digress. I started
to write about one memory,
one of my own memories,
and yes, I can pick one
that comes back sometimes
unbidden. A simple one.

After the long, tiring
birth of our first —
when you weren’t allowed to stay
and anyway had to work
hard, to finish by deadline
on your father’s building site

(you told me, when it was done
you’d just sat down in the gutter
exhausted, wiping your forehead,

when your friend turned up
with the news that you had a son
... but I heard that later) —

finally, cleaned and rested,
lying back on the pillows,
I opened my eyes to see you
struggling one-handed
into a white gown, the other hand
clutching a bunch of blue iris.

Above the gown and flowers
your eyes were their brightest blue.
(Why is it — I dreamed of negroes
and Sikhs, but all my husbands
and most of my lovers had blue eyes?
Such shining blue.... Again I digress.)

You never took your gaze from mine.
‘He’s beautiful, darling!’ you said,
whispering in your awe, and came
smiling, to embrace me, your face
alight with joy, your eyes
their brightest blue....


Day 24 - The person that gave you your favorite memory