BY DAWN GARISCH
The wilderness: exuberance
of form and colour, was chopped
and burnt for this: swathes of sugar
bulbs and grass, labourers bending
– insatiable task – gathering tuber and fibre
to drip their syrup. Conveyor belt mouths.
Every Friday, back from boarding,
I’d run to my father’s sugarlove hoard:
the fruit drops and peppermint crisps,
chocolate bars, and toffee twists.
Such exuberance of form and colour
lay spread across my bed! I ate and ate,
kept eating, to compensate my father’s
hard-boiled childhood, the sacrifice,
the waste; yet hungered bitterly
for a different kind of taste.