Cargo Literary Magazine

Compelling stories of human development through the lens of travel

  • Home
  • Issues
  • Features
    • Creative Nonfiction
    • Photography
    • Poetry
    • Review
    • Visual Art
  • Submit
  • Blog
  • About Us
  • Contact

Courgettes From My Sister’s Garden

Steven Mayoff

Some will say I’m exaggerating the disfigurement of these courgettes for comic effect in an effort to mask my self-loathing.

Green and bulbous then tapering
to slender pizzles, they are alien fruit
sprouting from pots like open
secrets or the puzzling genitalia
in a surrealist’s landscape. My sister can’t
understand why they turned
out liked that.

We meet once a year, either in Montreal
or Ipswich. This time it’s my turn
to go overseas, picking up the unresolved
conversation as we stroll past beach
huts on the Felixstowe boardwalk. We talk
about how our father used words
like “overseas”, the implication of a point of no
return because one of his brothers had died
in Italy during the war.

I position the courgettes on the kitchen
counter, take a picture
with my iPod and post it on Facebook,
beseeching my gardening homies
for any info on why these courgettes
would turn out
so misshapen, so comically vulgar, so
utterly devoid of hope and meaning.

courgettes

The beach huts are different colours
and have quaint names, like “Davy Jones’
Locker” and “Quebec”. Talk turns to our mother’s
manic depression and my vague memories
of her and I on a holiday. How she met
a man who bought me a wagon. How
they enjoyed talking, the white terry cloth
robe he wore on the hotel’s patio and the Bloody
Marys our mother drank. Like bits
of a remembered dream. My sister fills in
spaces, tries to put things
in context. Then remembers a show on BBC 2
she taped for us to watch, a retrospective
on Davy Jones’ career called, “Before
And After The Monkees”.

These horribly deformed courgettes will live
forever on Facebook, along with
wiseass comments about green
Martian penises, commiserating comments
about epic gardening fails, informed
comments about a lack
of pollination as the possible
reason for their weird shape. I give
the thread a sense of finality
with a comment on how I had seen
a sea-green beach hut
named “Courgette, My Love”.

courgettes

Beyond the beach huts, white breakers
split the rolling tide to celebrate
the frozen sea breaking up inside us as the subject
inevitably progresses to our brother’s
suicide. How we comforted each other
through the long distance line. How “inevitable” became
code for a metaphysical reality: existence
in a double-sided world where there was nothing
we could do, while at the same time we didn’t
do enough. There is an unspoken comfort
in knowing we are no further than when
we started as we reach the end
of the boardwalk, touch the metal rail
for good luck then turn back.
breakers
Some will say we are monkeying
around with the grieving
process when we swing between
water and stone. Some will say love
is only courageous when
we can let go.
Some will say I’m exaggerating
the disfigurement of these
courgettes for comic effect in an effort
to mask my self-loathing.
As my sister chops them up
into a casserole with Roma tomatoes
and Gruyere cheese, we discuss the beach
walk we will take
in Aldeburgh tomorrow, where I’m looking
forward to seeing the metal scallop
shell sculpture with the quote from Benjamin
Britten’s opera, Peter Grimes: “I hear
those voices that will
not be drowned.”

courgettes with cashews

Share this:

  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
  • More
  • Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to print (Opens in new window)

Related

About Steven Mayoff

Steven Mayoff is a full-time writer, born and raised in Montreal, who now lives on Prince Edward Island. His fiction and poetry have appeared in literary journals across Canada and the U.S., as well as in Ireland, France and Algeria. In 2010, his story collection, "Fatted Calf Blues” won the PEI Book Award for Fiction and his first novel, “Our Lady Of Steerage” will be published in May 2015. He is currently writing the libretto for an opera and working on his first poetry collection, “Red Planet Postcards”. His web site is www.stevenmayoff.ca.

Filed Under: Poetry

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • RSS
  • Twitter

Subscribe to to receive new issues and updates from Cargo Literary Magazine.

Tags

Africa Alaska Art Brighton England Canada Central America China Cuba Egypt England Europe France Germany Greece Guatemala Home Hungary India Israel Italy Japan Madrid Mexico Nepal New York City Niagara Ontario Oregon Paris Paris France Philippines Poland Puerto Rico Sahara Singapore South Korea Spain Syria Thailand Tibet travel Turkey Veranasi India Vietnam writing life
« I saw this mirror, reflecting the sky
Create Your Own Adventure »

Comments

  1. galkathleen says

    April 16, 2015 at 12:13 am

    Beautiful. Love this poem.

    • Steven Mayoff says

      April 16, 2015 at 3:26 pm

      Thanks, much appreciated.

  2. Patricia A. McGoldrick says

    June 23, 2015 at 7:59 pm

    Who knew that a few veggies could lead to such a poetic journey!

    • Steven Mayoff says

      July 14, 2015 at 9:19 pm

      Certainly not me. But you never know what will start any journey, poetic or otherwise.

© 2023 · Cargo Literary Magazine · Website by SunriseWeb.ca