by Mary Anne Spence
Today I am rekindling the past:
On stubborn Scottish soil.
Plainly, your handwriting says
Pink Poppies on an envelope
As light as gold Godrevy sand.
But to begin, I must recite an
Incantation of sorts: I search for words,
As if rummaging in an untidy kitchen drawer
For exactly the right thing
And uncover honed, wooden homilies
As smooth as old spoon handles.
For easy peeling
Tap the shell of a hard-boiled egg all over
For easy opening
Tap the lid of a jar with a big spoon
For easy storing
Tap the dry seed head into a small paper bag
Now, one year after your passing
The earth is stoked.
I tap out sooty seeds as fine as ash
And will them to blaze.↑