The old fisher couple sit at their kitchen window
on the outer Guernsey coast, sipping their second
cup of Irish tea, on the table a starched white cloth,
a sugar bowl with painted roses, lace in the window?
they listen to the storm rising and watch the puffins
struggle against the gale to return to empty nests
now that autumn has come, I remember them well

they glance at each other, ignoring the wrinkles
and weathered skin, silently confirming their hidden
thoughts? that time has blown away with the tides
though they are still here at the dining table, fingers
almost touching, waiting for winter to force them
under feather quilts where they will warm each other's
feet and sleep soundly through their long night.

This poem first appeared in Verse-Virtual (July, 2014).
Used here with the author's permission.