Genesis

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Sitting at the window shelling peas
into a battered colander between
my knees
(sweet, pod-swollen peas of early
May)
till suddenly I find I’ve slipped away
sixty years and vividly recall
rough stone on bare legs astride a
wall
swinging sandalled feet, a summer
tan
on knees, arms, face and summer in
my hair;
a cat sprawled in the mint-bed
asleep there;
and tiny fruit which bud the apple
tree.
How genes shuck off the pod of
memory:
battered colander between her
knees,
the woman sitting shelling May-
sweet peas
where my Mendelian legacy began.