On a photograph by Chemena Dianguindo
This photo may grow to be my favourite.
Taken on the wing with a mobile phone,
it shows Thelma standing in the doorway
of the narrow passage from our kitchen
to the conservatory. Sunlight streaming
from the south pools creamily behind her,
shadowing her figure and face that looks
to the cool north. Despite the unorthodox
illumination, she commands her space
like the tempered traveller from mapless
places she is. Her bone-china fineness
washes my eyes. Like the base of a long-
established tree, the ridges and valleys
of her neck ascend to a queenly crown.
And there, among uncountable branches
of matter, the singular song of her mind.