You do not read or write our language

loop the yarn of wool around your neck

legs out straight

on the chocolate and beige swirled carpet

I am child witness to your domestic reign

in the slide and pull of stitches

that do not drop

in the click and rub of steel knitting needles

a secret language of gesture and rhythm

a sovereign state behind a paling fence
white sheets catch the wind

sloped backyard planted into steppes

tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers

prickly curl of watermelon vine

the cultivation of fallow ground

in the new world

to ward doubt 
sheets off the line stretched

folded like pastry rolled thin

smoothed over

the pull of excess skirt hem

fat caught in the oilcloth

mercury rising
icon of St George, dragon impaled

watches

candle lit

a trusted house sitter

your hands workworn

changing milky brine solilo/солило

pickling cabbage, green tomatoes

air tinged with the smell of vinegar

like an embalmer solicitously you worked your craft
together we read the pictures from

little golden books

old Macdonald’s farm

kikurigu petle/кикиригу петле….

Three billy goats gruff

Trap trup trap trup/трап труп трап труп

faithfully you taught me nashe/наше

amongst the snapdragons and camelias

pulling weeds quietly planting petunias

your knife sharpened on the back step

a chook that pecks deserves a knife….

doused with boiling water

plucked feathers fly

blood spattered grass 
in the practice of small things

between village and suburb

around the movement of

earth from red to black

your words were

              a broth of microminerals 



Translations from Macedonian

Solilo /солило – brine
Nashe/наше – our language
Kikirigu Petle /кикиригу петле – cock-a-doodle-do