papRika

Lined up with my pillows I find a tray with a
scalloped tea cloth: its flowers and ribbons trailing
a basket; the pattern repeated in all quadrants;
hand-embroidered and thoughtfully arranged.

Spread around the centre of one whole-grain slice,
marmalade to sweeten a cup of Kenya and a glass of
thin orange juice, crowding a small Woolworths
jar which labels the pink hibiscus a

“sun-dried tomato tapenade”: tissue-crimped and
curled, already turning brown, with ants emerging
from the petals to walk the rim eternal -
measuring the girth of this communication:

Happy fiftieth birthday. In all this I call him
teacher: in careful thread and tiny tread I
find countless meanings, as yet unnamed,
to swell the word ‘love’.

© Sara Dias

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