GAUCIN

A gray dog on white cobblestones sleeps in the mid-day sun

Geranium growing out of milk cans, golden eagles overhead

Swallows fly across the milky sky above the lace village

A stray cat convention on bright white washed steps

Heart talks and heart responds over smoked ham and cured cheese

Young men buzzing like giant mosquitoes on rusted motorbikes

Day lazing along, rising like baked meringue into the night

Red and white carnations peeking though balcony bars

Long green stems reaching towards the opposite window

Old people, yes old people, proud and strong, walking

Along the road, pick poppies and pink snap dragons.

Perched on the hill , a fountain of fresh running water,

Cars stop, plastic jugs are filled for making coffee or soup.

In the warm breeze the smell of olive oil and garlic.

A pharmacy stacked with perfect rows of medicines.

Church bell rings, every hour, night and day, at ten to,

Ten to eight, ten to nine a gentle chime embraces the village.

Gaucin, a pearl necklace, glistens in summer light.

Joanna Harcourt-Smith
June 16, 2004

For John Lash