Forgotten Ground Regained
Rosemary
for Bill and Pattie Bloom
It's a bush beside a barricadeThat keeps kids from kicking their ballInto the startled street of streaming cars.It's a heady green hidden in dusk-hue,Its sheen shaded like a pale shell,The lining of which is liminal pearl.The gas meter measures our methaneconsumption in units of use, yesBut what's cooked wallows (even in winter)In a sprig my fingers spring and splinterWhen Daphne is working that day's dinnerInto broth. The branch transforms what it brushes.Like a post-flood dove who proffers peace,Tweezing a twig between my beakyThumb and finger, I fritter a fragranceLike sea-dew of a distant deluge.
Copyright © Andrew Frisardi, 2007