- Vol. 08
- Chapter 09
It is the crop of family trees,
uncut, not pared, that fruits the screen,
plans pattern of our laid out field,
a sampler, pueblo village life,
from pampas plain to Staffordshire.
Foreshortened, clay, mosaic tiles,
farfalle or fusilli bake,
from pasta bowl, framed farewell quay,
in waves, blocked angles, strings, shared fugue,
a ramrod pin on ballet point,
to roll towards both chicken lay,
spout kettle steam, sward play, no fret.
Aorta branches, shaded leaves,
corona shine at set of day,
a cloth of gold, hid battle scars,
as if in Hanseatic league,
companion guild in gilded craft.
This concertina, valued things,
with border of patina curls -
the art of folk whose lore declared -
though men relax, selves entertain,
what women work behind the scene?