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Visitor

A visitor finds themselves in a familiar garden among roses and a moss-covered birdbath, feeling the loose soil between their toes. They unbolt the back gate and enter through avenues of runner beans to the greenhouse, where time seems to slow in the heavy air filled with the scent of tomatoes and reminiscent of someone's hands. The visitor takes inventory of cracked flowerpots, discarded radio parts, and spilled seeds before closing the door, leaving the sun dozing inside while rainwater collects again in the shade under the laburnum tree, which the visitor empties but the water keeps returning.

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Tarini Tipnis
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168 views1 page

Visitor

A visitor finds themselves in a familiar garden among roses and a moss-covered birdbath, feeling the loose soil between their toes. They unbolt the back gate and enter through avenues of runner beans to the greenhouse, where time seems to slow in the heavy air filled with the scent of tomatoes and reminiscent of someone's hands. The visitor takes inventory of cracked flowerpots, discarded radio parts, and spilled seeds before closing the door, leaving the sun dozing inside while rainwater collects again in the shade under the laburnum tree, which the visitor empties but the water keeps returning.

Uploaded by

Tarini Tipnis
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Visitor

I find myself standing in the garden


among familiars: pink and yellow roses;
an anniversary birdbath now wrapped in moss;
the stone-grey football that soaks up water
and wheezes like an old man. On the ridged path
loose soil shifts between my toes.

I reach over the back fence, unbolt the gate,


sidestep the fat blackcurrant bush
and weave through avenues of runner beans.
In the heat of the greenhouse, time breathes
slowly, the air heavy as tomatoes;
the same air that hung about your hands.

I make an inventory: cracked flowerpots;


radio components awaiting reincarnation;
spilt seeds still clinging to dreams of geraniums.
I close the door. The sun stays inside, dozing.
In the shade of the laburnum your collection of rain
is brimming again. I deliver it. It keeps returning.

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