A Northern Morning

Anna Larmoliuk

A Northern Morning

It rained from dawn. The fire died in the night.
I poured hot water on some foreign leaves;
I brought the fire to life. Comfort
spread from the kitchen like a taste of chocolate
through the head-waters of a body,
accompanied by that little-water-music.
The knotted veins of the old house tremble and carry
a louder burden: the audience joining in.

People are peaceful in a world so lavish
with the ingredients of life:
the world of breakfast easy as Tahiti.
But we must leave. Head down in my new coat
I dodge to the High Street conscious of my fellows
damp and sad in their vegetable fibres.
But by the bus-stop I look up: the spring trees
exult in the downpour, radiant, clean for hours:
This is the life! This is the only life!

Alistair Elliot



“I brought the fire to life. Comfort spread from the kitchen.” This brings up old memories. How I would hear my mother lighting kindling in the kitchen stove. Waiting under the covers as the rooms slowly warmed. The sound of pots and pans rattling as she set about making breakfast. The kettle singing on the stovetop. Yes, comfort spread from the kitchen. From my mother’s presence and movements. This poem brings it all back. “A world so lavish with the ingredients of life.” I like that word “ingredients”, as if life were a meal. As if the world were composed like a recipe. And then the trees! Exulting in the spring rain – radiant. The way Elliot brings these words and images together, their placement and flavour - stirs up joy.