Tess
Davies

Eating Artichokes in France

Artichokes

In the morning she woke, body a sun-baked stone
Only her lips alive.
Light streamed through the window
Touching her body, dissolving its white dust
To gold

Wise in half sleep, wandering the strange rooms
She saw the artichokes waiting
Like reptiles in their orange bowl.

In the evening they ate them, him and her,
At the unfamiliar table.
Hard grey leaves fell away to pink and lilac petals,
Transparent, tasting of clover
Peeling quickly to the tender heart

Whose discovery made her shy
And curious to discover the cause 
Of this secret growth.

After eating the heart, they drifted
Around the house trying to settle their ghosts
And speak to others,
She saw the purple-green water, pooled on their plates,
Turn lizard-grey

Suggesting poisons
Acts of sin
And sleep coming down slow and heavy.

In the morning he lay beside her stone body
Made untouchable by claw-toed dreams
She woke, one foot alive, and the
Light streaming through the window
Swept them to the river,

Nerves gathered blood
Under cold, cold water
Streaming through her hair

And colossal waterfalls fell in other places
Poisons gathered like grief and left the river.
One foot fell on hot stone,
A lizard slipped through a crack of rock
And in the cool, dark silence the star map opened.

A poem about eating artichkoes, relationships and swimming in France