Saturdays
like Saturdays should be
clouds of rain linger
turn the garden into mist
where the ocean used to be
is a long queue
of fog, one after another
waiting for you to be bothered
by the non existing view
but secretly you don't care
because behind closed doors
is where you hide
the fire makes a crackling sound
a bottle of red wine
is emptied under loud laughter
philosophical talks and insights
because inside
we wash away the earth
from our hands
cut the carrots we picked
make the meat sizzle
pet the dog
cover ourselves with blankets
tell stories until
the day is gone
Written in Portugal, visiting a dear friend on a misty weekend, I hope you can feel the cosiness dripping off the page. This is a poem from my first poetry book 'Visions of Paradise'. Self-published while living in Toronto in 2016, the book is a collection of 40 nomadic poems inspired by travels through Australia, Canada, Indonesia, Nepal, Portugal, Spain and Belgium. Like what you read? You can dive into the entire book right about here. With love, Joke.
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