Room where Dad died--
later remade for Mom--
blushed purple through curtains
and vacant.
Apricot kitchen
oddly the same . . .
must be the sink and
the blue and white valances.
Surrendering the flower beds:
here are the blue bells,
Dutchman's breeches,
don't mow the tulips
yet.
Boxes,
bare mattress,
brown thrasher in ash,
the sun:
a sliver
a coal
a circle--
the final good morning.
later remade for Mom--
blushed purple through curtains
and vacant.
Apricot kitchen
oddly the same . . .
must be the sink and
the blue and white valances.
Surrendering the flower beds:
here are the blue bells,
Dutchman's breeches,
don't mow the tulips
yet.
Boxes,
bare mattress,
brown thrasher in ash,
the sun:
a sliver
a coal
a circle--
the final good morning.
So beautifully, delicately elegiac. I cherish the specificity of the blue and white valances, the Dutchman's breeches, and the brown thrasher. (Dutchman's breeches turned up in another poem I read recently, so I smiled a happy smile of recognition, finding them here!) Well done, Elena, as always.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Tom ~
ReplyDelete