The Waitress

We came walking blind bends at dusk, An overhanging fig picked fresh. No pavements, just a nervous trust that drivers would skirt our single line. Hugging the roadside with torches lit, Phones swung glowing to the ground At each arm's stride, hunger growing. Alkina's Taverna above the bend ahead Bids we run the road blind To steeply climb twenty steps And find our table for four, On the higher terrace for a change. Views of Mouse Island below, Still glimpsing the white monastery In evening's final fade and glow. Left to the blue hazed mountains Of Albania, somewhere joined to Greece, From where the morning sun rises in nine And a half hours. Distant lights sprinkle Their shine on the sea. The evening air Is warm. A cicada telephones its rubbed Ring in the olives. Or are there two? Half a litre of Retsina comes cold, clouding The green bottle glass with evening dew, And with your warm modesty, Hoping we enjoy. It's not to everyone's taste Bearing its name only in Greece. But it is right to drink between the pines. This bottle is the best, and so it is. Your voice is kind, with a smile, Seen despite the mask, and thirty years of waiting at the terrace tables. Fifty ..sixty years old? Hard to tell Until we talk of your leaving Corfu When you were eight. The family followed Your father to Queens, but at twenty two You came home again from New York, Not kicking the move or sulking in young Years, though there was excitement, and life. You knew in going that you must come Again one day. It was too late to become An American citizen. Your passport had just Arrived but you needed another full Year to validate. Perhaps for the best. You came back to Corfu, had your Daughters young and with your husband Alkina was begun. Seven days a week, Plus housework in between. No holidays this year but maybe a week At Christmas to visit your daughter in Athens. Maybe. But the season had been so short. The two cats had become yours And were well, not scraggy and fleed Like so many that looked up in hope towards The tables. The elephant beans and fried Peppers, moussaka and lamb cuts All shared with salad and fries, Tomatoes with cucumber. The Ingredients in the beans? We tried To guess, but you were asked. Cloves Was one, red peppers and tomato, Pureed and fresh, and ground black pepper. We requested another retsina, and to Keep the green bottles. You offered a bag. We talked, Interrupted by the chef, From a far table. Finished for the evening, Your husband? A few short words from his chair, Directed, not cross, but you neglected To serve the other diner, and then you Came again to talk. Were you in trouble For spending time with us? No. The O Was Long, and your smile not broken. We fell in love with your food and your Gentle spirit. We hoped to see you again, Next year, but I don't remember That we asked you your name, Or gave you ours. Such was your unfamiliar Intimacy, your warm connection that Bathed us, and a thousand other visitors Beside, still fresh, still clear, Without a hint of stirring sediment, Your Smile still surrounding you Like the dew on the bottle of retsina.