Interlude: a short poem

The picture restorer’s invoice

Under honeysuckle sprays, a cinder path 

runs up to the barn and around its brick footings

to a thick archway of clipped privet, through which 

lies the picture restorer’s door. He stands mixing 

pigments with linseed oil, cleans brushes with turps

and stares intently at the painting before him.

A woman in rags looks up from the canvas 

to feet she has tenderly washed. At night

She licks a bowl in the stairwell’s shadow,

left there for her wellbeing. As usual, her meal’s

gruel. She is offered little but a goodnight kiss

and willingly binds wounds for peach stones.

Too soon the clatter of others’ laden breakfasts

drowns out dawn chorus. She has washed

his white dress, which has fallen from a nail

at the focal centre of this period piece.

A subtle tint of Western flesh turns her anguish

into something warmer but expressionless.

The craftsman clouds over with past’s varnish

and wearily writes out an invoice for his work.

Complete, he follows the cinder path round the barn,

under the pink and fragrant canopy to the yard

and lifts the latch to his terracotta tiled kitchen,

where the smell of Arabica coffee greets him.

His wife’s smile meets his. Her complexion 

Is olive-skinned, a brunette, Middle Eastern. 

He addresses an envelope, seals it with a lick,

kisses his wife’s forehead and counts his blessings.