broken bouquets

2009 - 1955 - 1972

On  my mother's table 

 in Ida’s House

A small clutch of

 wilted white gladiolus

 Through the kitchen door

 amazing autumn-scented wind

Again I stand at the rim of

 that tiny grave.Tug at my sundress

 Socks smudged with earth

 Somewhere deep beneath my breastbone

 strange paths of ancient pain

 that my 11-year-old mind struggles

 to grip, conquer and name

Wedding evening coming from the church 

 I stop to see my grandmother

 curled, bedridden

 break apart my bouquet

 give her roses

 You years before came

 broken from our mother's body 

we brought you gladiolus

 flower of strength

 buds of remembrance