Landfall at daybreak

by Helen Overell

Fetch a saucepan – the small even-handed one with a lip
on either side,

find the flat wooden stirrer, or better still, use the spurtle
Granddad made,

take the rolled oats from the cupboard – the nearest
stout paper packet –

marvel at the pale yellow elephant on the front, outlined
in bright blue,

look for a cup to match the everyday bowls – Willow Pattern,
Woolworth’s best,

fill to the brim with whisper of harvest sprung from earth,
rain and sunlight,

pour into the pan, listen as the soft scurried patter settles
to speckled hush,

add water, use a double measure – plus a dash more – watch
clarity turn to cloud,

place on the burner, stir, feel like the silken swirl begin to chafe
at bubble-burst,

turn the flame right down, cook until resist-of-thicken clings –
this is porridge –

pour into your bowl, mine, deep trails undo, moraines merge
flat and firm,

sprinkle a little brown sugar on top, add just a splash of milk,
a sea of white

floods an island that floats – now, here’s a spoon, sit and eat,
begin at the shore.