Joy ... in Uruguay

Summer evenings and fireflies,

Bare feet and sun burnt faces

Cicadas winding-down

High up in towering           

Eucalyptus trees.

Sudden summer showers

Running barefoot together

Under a huge

Oversized red umbrella.

Chasing, racing, screaming,

Ice cream.

We all scream for ice cream.

And then

Warm egg sandwiches

Made by my Mummy

In fresh white bread

With-the-crust-cut-off.

Bread that smells like only

Fresh bread can smell

In Uruguay.

Because it’s feather-white bread.

She knows best

About bread, and

Sandwiches, and

Everything.

Sandwiches in warm breads

Like driving past a bakery

With bread growing in the oven

Bury your nose in the bread

And smell the warm taste.

Egg sandwiches that always

Come together with

Paper-thin cucumber

Sandwiches.

They smell like only summer

Can smell in Uruguay;

Summers of cucumbers.

Cucumbers as thin as

Bible pages,

Pick-one-out,

See-throughable cucumbers

Like frosty bathroom windows

Or bubbly kitchen doors

What can you see

Through your cucumber?

Shadows and shapes

Made by looking through

Vegetables like frosted glass.

Frosted like ice.

Holiday on Ice!

Front-row seats.

Always front-row seats

With

Tickets bought by Daddy

For the front row.

It’s in the front row

Where the candy-floss

Floats by your hair

Followed by the cry

Of “Coooo-ca Coooo-la!”

And hot dogs.

But the cold of the ice

In the rink

In your face

Is the best.

Because Daddy knows this

Is a place at the front

Where the clowns tumble

Out of the rink.

And sit on my knee.

And make me dream

Of being part of the show.

Holiday on Ice.

Holidays by the sea.

And hot pine needles

On sand near the sea.

Long hot days of sun and sand.

Sand in your hair

And

Sand in your shoes,

Castles and moats

Gobbled up by the sea.

Frothy white waves

Salty blue waves

Crashing down on your head

Again and again;

They don’t care,

They don’t wait,

And it’s salty cold water

Right-up-in-your-nose.

Till you sneeze and you cough

And jump right back in again

For more.

Long hot days by the sea,

Sticky hot nights when you toss

And you sweat in your bed.

No fans no breeze

So you sweat and you wriggle

Till you lie on the floor.

To be cool in Uruguay.

Be cool, then be cold when

Cool turns cold in winter.

Dark mornings, cold clothes,

Hot porridge and soup,

Soup bowls filled with letters

A whole steaming alphabet

Swimming and billowing,

The hot that turns cold, all

Cold round the sides while

You played making

Names-on-the side-of-your

Plate.

And you’re scolded a little

So you pick up your things

And trudge glumly to bed

And then trip on the

Red rubber boots

Full of mud.

So you’re sad but

You think of a

Furry warm coat and

Two Grandmothers.

The furry warm coat that’s

Lita’s “pussycat” coat

So silky and warm.  Brown,

Warm, and snuggly.

Snuggly to rub a cold cheek in

And feel better.

“You like my ‘pussycat’ coat,

Don’t you?”  Lita asks

With a twinkle in the

Cornflower blue of her eyes.

You do.

Then there’s

Mizzy’s “pussycat” corner too.

Where no one can sit but she.

“Who’s sitting in my

‘pussycat’ corner?” Not me

Cos I’ve already jumped

To the floor to look at

The moon in the sky

Through the window at night

And the flames in the

Grate by the clock.

Crack and tock.

Flames and huge

Bonfires.

With great tongues of

Fire rushing up

To the sky.

In Uruguay.

Snaky plumes of smoke

Sucking air dreedily

Puffing up and getting

Snatched.

Snatched by wind.

Swishing into your

Eyes and your nose

Till you tear

With the sting of

The smoke in the walls

Of your nose;

So you turn to the wind

And it blows in

Your face.

It’s a whipping wind

Whipping twisters of leaves,

Red, yellow, and brown

Leaves in a wild dance

Whooshing up and

Tumbling down.

Blowing and blowing

As you scream and you

Run.  Run away from the

Wind ‘cause it’s

Clutching your hair

Hair filling with knots

Those “birds’ nests”

Impossible to deal with

Without tears.

Silly tears that mean nothing –

Just tired contentment

And suddenly

I’m really quite

Ready for bed and

And headful of

Plaits

And kisses,

Hugs and laughter,

Warmth and care.

A lifetime of

Memories.

A lifetime of

Treasures.

A childhood of

Sharing

And love

In Uruguay.

Pure Joy.