Читать книгу Terrible Blooms - Melissa Stein - Страница 11

Birthstone

Facedown in carpet,

arm pinned behind me.

Oh, opal. Oh, tourmaline.

Oh emerald of the cool, cool shade.

A jewel is buried in this

pile I will find it with

my teeth. Pearl from grit

wrought me. Do you know I

have hopscotch and dandelion,

weathervane, watering can.

I have a story, I am skipping

out into whiteblue checkered

yes that is an apron, edged

in rickrack, whipped

by wind into the shape of

my mother. The sun behind her.

Cut out of that light with

pinking shears, steps out

with face and whole hands,

entire: that old apron

wrapped twice around

my waist, kitchen soldier,

jade milk-glass mixing

bowl wire whisk and sifter,

the floured board, the dough’s

shagged fist—does it hurt, does it

bruise, would you hand

me a nasturtium,

its orange burnt bitter

carnelian, mouthful

oh where is that jewel