by Tamara von Werthern
When I wake up, these days, the sky looks bruised
The days are getting shorter, and it’s time for candles
Again, for little sweetnesses to coax you through them
You must be kind, must cook and clean and make things nice
A clean tabletop, no more crumbs. Fresh sheets on the bed.
Fruit bought at the market, a film borrowed from the local library.
Wake up your numb limbs with stretches pinned to the cupboard door
Drink wine in a pub by the seaside, where the wind is still singing in your ears.
A weekday morning, when on waking, I lie with my head on your chest
An arm loosely wrapped around me, for twenty minutes, listening to the radio
Before making strong coffee and carrying the clanking cups through to your room.
Bright coloured socks. A hat. A scarf. Dinner parties, bonfire night. Chestnuts in the fire.
The world is still full of delights. Every morning, the blueish drowsiness of the sky is
Slowly lifted, turns to orange, raindrops licked from windows, breakfasts in the kitchen
Laughter from the other rooms. It comforts me to know that there will be walks outside, wrapped up against the cold, there will be songs at Christmas, somewhere, there’s snow
And other towns I’ll see with you, and trains, and morning papers and films in the
Cinema, mornings in bed, cycling along the river, hot chocolate, soup, carrot
And swede, I could start growing things on the windowsill, give them a head start
For the spring. I taste the air and it is fresh and green and tastes of change.
Tamara von Werthern
Tamara von Werthern is a German/British writer, based in East London. Her work for the theatre is published with Nick Hern Books (most recently The White Bike). Her plays have been performed at the Royal Court, the Arcola Theatre, The Space, Lion & Unicorn, The Old Red Lion, The Hope Theatre and the White Bear Theatre. She has had poetry and short stories published in magazines, as well as two crime novels written in German and set in her hometown, Hofheim.