Paradiso
by Maria Borys
In a garden they had named their Paradiso
The garage stands with the door always ajar
An old man in the evening waters roses
Plastic flowers grow amid some Pampas grass.
In a garden—and its name is Paradiso
an old woman sets the table for some tea
A veil of lilac blue perfume dances around her
for an instant she’s become his young new wife.
In this garden—and its name is Paradiso
Flags of laundry fly their colours in the wind
A picnic table, plastic chairs, mismatched companions
the man whistles for the stray cats to come back.
There’s a garden whose name is Paradiso
An old barbecue leans rusting by the vine
Smells of rhubarb, dandelions and wild garlic
Water barrels stand forgotten in the rain.
In the garden whose name is Paradiso
she finds solace as she sits there in the shade
she remembers the good times when they gathered for a feast
Sunday afternoons with friends long gone away.
In her dreams she named this garden Paradiso
In wrought iron its name written on the gate
It doesn’t matter—just a dream—the garden lives still within
And she loves him among the stray cats and the rain.
In this garden whose name is Paradiso
There’s a teapot on the table, and two cups.
So I miss you but you don’t know that you’re not here.
We have tea in conversation with stray cats.
Maria Borys was born in Poland and spent her formative years in Mexico. She writes and translates business, academic and literary texts in English, Spanish and Polish. Her work has recently been published in Chilean Poets: A New Anthology (Marick Press, 2010); and Borealis: Antologia Literaria de El Dorado (Verbum Veritas/La cita trunca, 2010).