Wine and Cheese

a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The woman, who lives in the old cottage
that has no electricity or running water on land
that is stony and not fit for ploughing,
has a flock of goats;
of those she makes a living
making and selling cheese.
She looks fragile,
so tiny yet, strong as wayside weed.
Her face is tanned by the outdoor, craggy as the harsh
but beautiful landscape where she tends to her animals,
yet her eyes is clear and all seeing.
Smiles she does,
her eyes laugh when I buy her pungent cheese,
she senses that I’m lusting after her lithe body
that smells of raw nature untainted by
scented soap and puny city perfume.
When she takes her black hat off
her hair is jet black, long, strong and uncombed,
I long to burrow my face into this untamed wilderness
and inhale it’s aroma
but dare not she may take offense
and I won’t have any cheese to savour with my wine.