Coal fire sings the song of rustling autumn leaves
dancing into red and black.
Auntie Becca fills the pantry-kitchen
as sharpest longest knife saws
through a crust more golden
than the sun.
Brown velvet snuggles the table,
lettuce leaves cut-crystal bowl
for china’s salt-and-vinegar rains.
Uncle Harold’s Sunday shiny skin
black traces under finger nails;
mine-shaft waiting as we share
sandwiches, cups of tea,
a walk to the cobnut trees
and back before my father
comes to take me home.