Beautiful memorial; you might read Gary Soto's poem...might want to change
the title.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
In a message dated 10/27/2004 11:06:01 AM, [log in to unmask] writes:
<< The Scent of Oranges
Strangely still that day, no children played
on the fading hopscotch grids,
curtains drawn in quiet respect.
" Go down and say goodbye to your Grandma."
I had been bidden. Reluctant, I dawdled,
lazy as a trout, down the sunlit stream of the afternoon.
I hunkered behind the world's cold back;
wet my finger to clean a scuffed knee;
sucked at an orange until my cheeks stung.
Heavy curtains bulged with prising light.
Plain pine, chromed handles, set upon trestles,
it loomed - choose how I tried to ignore it.
I covered my face with my hands.
I puzzled how to grieve, an alien art,
while perfumes of orange pervaded.
I was bidden to stroke her brow.
The waxen face slept on, lips slightly parted,
a glimmer of shining dentures, rouged cheeks.
I gave, too, the bidden kiss
and a feather of terror stirred
at the scent of zest there.
We buried her in a sodden graveyard
high on the moor road home
to where she had been born.
Many years later I looked for the unmarked place
in the steep graveyard of secret steps and shades
but who remembers things like the locations of graves.
I only remember the thudding knock of homage - sod
on coffin roof, the scratch of rain on elder leaves
and hands that reeked of death.
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