Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Patmos 1980

We'd walked for miles that day,
foolish young people on an island,
wanting to get to the other side.
Foolish and young and heedless. And by the time we reached
the rocky barren shoreline,
dusty, dehydrated, the sun was
high high in the sky, the rocks
splitting with mid-summer heat -
and us with no food and no water.
Silly kids. Silly silly city kids.
We barely noticed the tiny house
tucked under the cliff, almost
part of the cliff. But the black clad
old woman noticed us, and beckoned:
"Ela. Ela"
She pulled water from a well,
in a metal bucket, poured
huge ladlefuls into cups.
"Poto. Poto"
Then tomatoes appeared,
each as big as a fist,
on a white enamelled plate.
"Efaristo" we said.
"Efaristo"
No tomato has since tasted sweeter,
no water as cold and as pure.
And she stands on the edge of the beach;
"Ela". "Poto"




1 comment:

  1. Thanks for sharing this moment Krysia. Yes I was one of the Patmos Three. It's nice to look back on this simple and natural moment in time without the baggage of youthful angst and ego. Oh I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Pete xx

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