Poems from Elle's perspective

Portrait in a cookbook

I read your chicken scratch writing
and imagine you in your kitchen,
weak English sun peeping in
through gauze curtains, hideous
wallpaper that dates it so perfectly.
War brings economies,
no butter or eggs, mere housewives
become inventors of recipes
that work with meagre supplies.
And you could never have guessed
four generations later
a girl on the other side of the world
would pore over your cookbook
and imagine you in your kitchen,
weak English sun peeping in.


Free verse. Written 18 February 2016.