When I think of you,
your voice is foremost,
images of New Year’s Eve
at Charly’s Chez Nous,
of an unknown berry sorbet
which wouldn’t set,
yet we balanced the menu
with humour, good company
and extra filling pieces
of engineer’s chatty pork.
Grassy cheese caught fresh
from a neighbour’s garden
squeaked, it waited patiently
for fireworks to show up.
Wines waved to sparklers
on a snowed balcony,
and all the while I recalled
how you wrote of a toast
the year before;
we all clinked glasses.
I cherish your voice Sousse,
the bronze tones echo
of your mother’s kinder stories,
polished as a sunstone wish
to add with poems we’ve written.
One day we’ll place them
on a home’s mantle, our sounds;
toast to that new year
from a shared city window.
