the picture I liked best?
a watercolour
in a wormy wooden frame
an old barn by the sea
with a path drawing you down
through a field of poppies.
‘By a cousin of mine’ she said
‘Used to be a set designer. For the opera.
Long gone now, of course.’
I lean in to read
the signature in the corner
pressed with the end of the brush
when the barn was done
and the clouds were lit
and the field was singing with red
‘I’ve got another one of his somewhere,’ she said
‘but not in a frame, I’m afraid.’