Nostos
France was crottins from the pantry sidling
off the plate, a little bluer every day, raw milk
freshly foaming in bowls of chocolat chaud
and the chewy puce of donkey saucisson.
It was myrtilles tumbling into buckets, purpling
hands and tongues for a latticed work of tarte,
sirop de menthe at altitude as we surveyed iced
peaks from the parasolled terrace of a refuge.
It was picnics breathing hot spice of broom,
sawing baguettes and spreading La Vache qui rit –
though, edging past a Charolais bull as Dad strode
through its herd, I had my doubts about that.
France was drowsy afternoon abricots, Mum’s face
upturned to the sun like a deprived tournesol;
later her proud productions over camping gaz –
Madame Dolly’s biftek haché and haricots verts.
Oh, it was glorious gastronomie! But watching it
recede from the ferry’s white deck, then ploughing
back across a restless channel, we three thrilled at
the promise of fish and chips on Weymouth prom.
Three little maids on a seaside bench, legs a-dangle,
we’d unwind the paper, savouring chunk and crunch
and nip of salt, and gaze out across the darkening sea,
threaded lamps twinkling and bobbing in the twilight.
Alice Stainer teaches English Literature and Creative Writing to visiting undergraduates in Oxford and is also a musician and dancer. Her poetry often probes the nature of relationship through explorations of place and forms of art. Recent work appears in Dust, Bad Lilies and Ink, Sweat and Tears, and Under the Radar, and has been nominated for various prizes including the Forward Prize. Her debut pamphlet Headlands came out in September 2024 as a winner in the Live Canon competition. Find her on X and Bluesky @AliceStainer.
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