Fragments of the Sacred

The first breath of air
rich with earth and water,
the scent of worms & hyacinth.

Thick sweet green of the grass
growing in the backyard, where
the old dog was laid to rest.

The redhead who remembers her husband
by painting enormous tulips,
bent by the wind, stripped of petals.

The leathery crackle of old photos,
one of them of the little girl
who did not survive her own birth.

First cool, then warm
in the hands, a glass of water,
that’s all, nothing more.

The shiver on the tongue
of curry, hot and hungry.
The sliver of plain bread.

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4 responses to “Fragments of the Sacred

  1. A kind of fitting ending to the series, Looking back an remembering family no longer here.

    • Defining family broadly and loosely, yes. :) My grandmother always told me to treasure and care for friends, because they are the family of our hearts, the family we choose and who chooses us.

    • Why, thank you! I am incapable of seeing for myself which poems are the ones that will reach people. I was tired and disappointed with it when I wrote it, but it was the best I had in me at the time. And, voilĂ , it turned out to be one of the ones in this series that best reached the hearts of people.

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