Imagine the ocean dwindling
Into a fractured pool,
Poured into a vase with Black-Eyed Susans.

      This is how cremation works.

I am not supposed to know
The thanatology of morticians,
Their indelible whisperings
      Behind closed doors.

      I had memorized the edges of her
            Crisp against sheets; flesh
            Breathing in purls, amnesic
            Light shambling through windows.

            Fresh-cut flowers witnessed
            The last rites. My sister and I said
            We wouldn’t argue, but her hands watered

            The hairy stems, dug into the succulent mud
            Of our mother’s body, sacrificed
            Sleep. A thing not forgotten:

      I should have been there.

Now closing my eyes
Spills the dark center of our mother
Into those yellow rays.

She swirls like a murky tongue of flame,
The muffled trill of a lyre,
As if she might sing my name, scold me.

My hands sift through silt
Spangled with bone.

Shades of it surprised me. Each time
I expect grey or white,

      But something intensely blue
      Flows through my fingers.

__________________________________________________________

Adrienne Lewis has authored two brief collections of poetry: Coming Clean (Mayapple Press, 2003) and Compared to This (Finishing Line Press, 2005). Her writing has also been published in numerous print and online literary venues. She currently teaches English in Michigan at Kirtland Community College in the Northwoods of Roscommon and at Davenport University's three Tri-City campuses. Lewis also currently serves as Editor-in-Chief of Central Michigan University's online arts and literary journal Temenos.
Website: http://www.andydylew.com
__________________________________________________________

kaleidowhirl  |  spring 2007