WALKING THE ISLAND ROAD AFTER DINNER

Walking the narrow raised road

under the wings

of your parents, father starting

to whistle, freed from the house

of the sisters-in-law, blackbird

with hands in his pockets,

mother in polished tan cotton shorts,

house sparrow, wings folded

under her soft blousy wrap.

Asking nothing.

What were their thoughts? You

are content just to stroll

with them,

hover close to their silky coverts.

Sometimes you stop

to burst the orangey weed-flowers,

tap them or blow, seed after seed

arcing onto the road. You and your sister

seeding the road. Asking nothing:

not the name of the flowers,

or the tune or the time.

      Or how

your parents kept hidden

their back-mounted wings.