the garlic peeler

the garlic peeler lived on the hill
above the wharf
where he could see the ships fade
their masts pricked and drained of their mightiness
as they dwarfed into the horizon

one day I’ll follow as far as

there was a road that led from his home to the shop
where he peeled and pressed garlic
and the trail was marked with his scent
the stinging, shiny sweat of garlic and garlic’s kiss
stuck to his fingers, palms, his forehead
where his fingertips had jogged across
their waves as marked as the mediterranean

i can follow myself home i can

let me see you let me see you
louisa would beg
and they spoke every sunday night
read each other poetry and historic fiction
great dramas and translated epics
because stealing other’s words was sometimes easier
when you had so much left to say
and the garlic peeler hated the smell of his telephone
the smell of his hands, his breath

but he loved the sound of louisa
learned to remove her words from her voice
and just hear her
unadulterated
a voice like low harps, played at night

hear you from here I can hear you

louisa found the garlic peeler
at work and
when they made love he left his fingerprints on her
and she left her teeth in him
and Louisa smelled like rosemary and elm trees
and the garlic peeler held her in until she left an ache in his chest