Agnes
what moss are you
inching up the rough letters of Agnes
graven on a stone next to a little lamb
of God? The older I grow
I think the more
on tenderness -- Lily
of the Valley, white violet,
tiny blue forget-me-not, remember
the cool hand
grandfather placed on her damp
brow, thumbing
a wet bang back, cowlick,
leaving the family Bible, black
and heavier than loaves
of molasses bread
weighing on those
of us left
by the open grave
under a huddle of clouds
By Reka Jellema
Copyright April 2016
what moss are you
inching up the rough letters of Agnes
graven on a stone next to a little lamb
of God? The older I grow
I think the more
on tenderness -- Lily
of the Valley, white violet,
tiny blue forget-me-not, remember
the cool hand
grandfather placed on her damp
brow, thumbing
a wet bang back, cowlick,
leaving the family Bible, black
and heavier than loaves
of molasses bread
weighing on those
of us left
by the open grave
under a huddle of clouds
By Reka Jellema
Copyright April 2016
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