Moss jewels under the toe wearing the silver ring
azaleas copy the town that reminds me of my childhood
my grandmother shaking her rag rugs
her body ringing like a bell
grandfather stirring eggs until they thicken in the black skillet
his weight to one leg
my skin smelling like sugar turning to a boil
sweet and unpleasant
the smell I remember most
berries ripening to soft juicy heads under cheesecloth
called Tigs the cat and wiped my brow
peeping through the clapboard
ferns hairy to the ends of steely green balls
grow smaller and smaller
a cool draft lifting from
black earth breathing
where a boy in skull short hair
a skinned knee and a scar beginning at the eyebrow
peels a stem of rhubarb
curly Q’s almost the same as celery
except for the red
he whispered to the dog.
