
Here, Pink Fir Apple potatoes,
wine-dark venison steaks,
onion chutney glowing amber,
a stowaway date and walnut loaf,
two thick ropes
of pork and apricot sausages
mysterious, heavy,
cold in their plastic bag.
Here, fat wedges of rindy cheeses,
tales told over scalding cups of tea,
that back-to-school
chill in the air.
The sun's trapped
in this pattypan squash, that honey jar
is bottled summer, and these
are the leaves
of promises farmers grow.
Look, courgettes: plump green babies limbs,
a bundled spectrum of rainbow chard,
eggs, smooth and cool
as seawashed pebbles
and homemade apple pies, sugar-dusted,
wrapped, waiting
like secrets to be shared.
More poetry inspired by her time at Woodlands Farm.