Potatoes she peeled: a poem for my nanna

where to begin
maybe with the small cracks
in her skin
every afternoon
and again soon
she sat down
in a kitchen
basket on her lap
whilst you heard
the water
dripping from the tap
she peeled potatoes
part of her daily chores
that earthy fragrance
ingrained in her pores
taking out the pits
with a tiny knife
the homely joys
she thought
of her daily life

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