Tuesday poem: Picnic of Pineapple and Rain

Mist turns to rain
you turn to me
softly
the waves unfold.

Across the distance of the blanket
your face is wet
you drip pineapple
from your mouth.

You turn to me and say,
popping grapes between your words,
you say – One day
we will keep our books in the same bookcase.

On a picnic beach of sunlit stones
the waves unfold
I turn to you
mist turns to rain.

From Mapping the Distance (page42) by Ingrid Horrocks
Published by Victoria University Press
Used with the permission of Victoria University Press

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