Poem of the Month

The Walled Garden in July

White and green
meanders down the slope –
a cool cascade flowing
over terraces of scorched soil.

Queen Anne’s Lace
displays its proud white umbels
to the sky; lilies, not yet open,
keep their flamboyance tightly furled and hiding.

No breath of wind –
even the marguerites, usually
so jolly in their white and yellow,
do not dance, hold themselves in stillness.

Buddleia flowers,
half spent with browning bases,
curve their creamy tips, point
downhill – a warning that soon summer

will be gone
and we will need
to take refuge from autumn’s chill
in the museum cafe down below.

For now, even the bees
are somnolent, lazily humming
pollen-heavy songs. Shawled in sun
l sit in the garden, eat a peach.

Its downy skin caresses
my lips. I sink my teeth
into its yielding flesh.
Juice dribbles down my throat.

Iris Anne Lewis