photo: ralph murre
Shells of Pink and
Beige
by
Carol Louise Moon
A
constellation, found in the hazel specks of
the
eye’s iris, has rearranged and taken hold.
By
September I could remember only that my father
lay
dying, no other thoughts between us held.
I
watch the old captain, his vessel sinking, water
of
our tears collecting in our great ship’s hold.
Tiny
shells of pink, beige and ecru in a small
lidded
dish, as in a bank vault securely held.
Even
his name, seen on this cracked mug,
grips
my heart—has its own way of taking hold.
This
hour’s dandelion fluff, blown by wind or
will
across this barren plain, is a sight to behold.
In
these last days I feel useless in this angled light—
a
sweater, button-less yet button-holed.
And
this name, my name whispered on his
dying
lips, has a way of taking root… taking hold.
~
previously published in
Late Peaches, Poems by Sacramento
