Tuesday, July 9, 2019

The Weight of Stories - Poems for Mom

Bunny Purington on the Bridge of Flowers, July, 2015

A swirl of high clouds
between the retreating sun
and the frosted earth
My mother folds away the old quilts
that did not save her asters

Blue-painted beanpoles
in the new-planted garden
copper chimes flicker
I relax into the stillness
of growing things

This hepatica
whose freshness lasts for an hour . . .
if left in the woods
I wouldn't have seen it,
wouldn't have seen it wilt

Her sharp knife quick
to peel, core, slice the red apple
- we talk of childhood fears
how I blocked my ears
against the fairy tale

Tipped-over maple tree -
its deep roots released from earth
by too much rain
I also want to end my days
where I have always lived

West wind
shudders the farmhouse
I feast on comfort food
beside the garden catalogs
a kitten plays

By the attic stairs a
pot of rosemary
- at night the house creaks
under the weight of stories
no one ever threw away

   Tanka from Gathering Peace