Ashes

Robert James Berry

for my Mother

Swing the mattock
Slice the baked clay

Flints, chalk
The blade works through
marrow of roots
fashions the six foot plot

Cotton seals my mother's nosemouth

... Her ringsfavourite dress

I do not know you

earthsun-brown

rills onto teak
over final flowers

I am standing farewell
ThenTonight
Your lips still
Your mask chalk

The 2River View, 3_1 (Fall 1998)