You were my first foreign adventure.
Before I could pronuonce your name,
with secret x and s, I proudly ordered you
with freshly rolling r from the boulangerie.
My sister, berry-wild, and I – two undiscovered raisins,
sank our toes in pale fine sand. We ran and hid
behind the dunes and nearly lost ourselves in Belgium,
catching wind and sun. Hot grains beneath hot feet.
Salt-tongued and sticky-lipped we splashed plumb-sweet
in wrinkled costumes. My sister blond and I the plumper, darker one
circled the rounded mounds until we found a dizzy home.
Smooth crumbling coils, snail-shaped escargots –
we pulled their centres out. Unravelling is despoiling:
serious vowels. We always wanted back,
a curiosity never spent in pounds in England.
You were my currency and francs a fair exchange. My bread
and butter. The taste between your delicate, unsalted-skin is almost
unpronounceable. My first foreign adventure.