Kim Whysall-Hammond

Kim Whysall-Hammond

Kim Whysall-Hammond is an expert in obsolete telecommunications arcana and believes, against all evidence, that she is a good dancer. She has been published by Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Amaryllis, Star*Line and Crannóg. You can find her at thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com

 
Black Fig

Slumped in the still hot shade
Cowering from the late morning Sicilian summer sun
We have walked the dry vineyards since dawn
Scouring topsoil for archaeology
For signs of Roman, Arab, Norman
Now we melt sleepily beside our haul
Fragments of pots and tiles
And peer out down the dirt road for our belated lift
A soft plop distracts us, causes us to look up
To realise that our shelter is a fig tree
With sudden energy we jump to shake the branches
Eager for juicy sweetness
When the car arrives, we are gorged on overripe black figs
Hot but content.

 
Gecko

Each siesta, my gecko came
Skittering across the mottled ceiling
Dancing over paint flakes
Lengthening his neck to peer down
At me

He would not leave his hiding hole
Until I laid me down to rest
In the Sicilian noonday heat
Then two sparkling gleaming eyes
Held vigil

Halfway between stick and snake
Sandy spiky little friend
Padded feet gripping to defy gravity
My curious Gecko watched over me
Literally

Once his powers failed him
And he plopped down onto my chest
I woke to see him face to face
And find in those eyes
Understanding

 
Loom Weight

A loom weight lost these many millennia
Sits proud on heavy soil
Held in my hand, it speaks of loving toil
The spinning of fabric
To clothe a family
And a connection is made
She spoke ancient Greek
A colonist deep in Sicily’s heartland
I stroke the fingerprint left in once moist clay
And say Hello

 
Cochi

Deep ploughed grooves
reveal treasures between vines
broken pots, beads, loom weights,
amphora base inscribed with a name.
Burnt edges speak of conflagration,
terror, loss, pain.
Archeology of human fear.

Cochi was the term for pot sherds when we were Archeological Field-Walking in Sicily several years ago.

 
All poems on this post: © Kim Whysall-Hammond
Published with the permission of Kim Whysall-Hammond