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My Father's Hands Beneath the Jasmine






My Father's Hands Beneath the Jasmine

Five years in the garden.
Beneath the wandering jasmine:
weightless wave-spool cresting
tumbled hand-hewn timber.

Two days nestle in verbena's curl:
cloying cereal, crush of strangers fumbling
broken phrases. Dissolved
in a golden fantail's bowl.

Creosote nails break the last bare earth.
Late bloom
absently cultivated.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
caffienekitty
Sep. 28th, 2013 10:35 pm (UTC)
Lovely, wonderful layers of meaning.
ciaranbochna
Sep. 29th, 2013 01:08 am (UTC)
Thank you. Memories are transient things, and not easily buried, no matter how many layers of earth you heap over them.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )