Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Heritage

her voice spins and leaps
angling at a song of praise
for that burnt bush
its smoky smell assailing the nose
mean somewhat
like an exotic fragrance
or the steaming water for Kreplach
for family invited back

she wants to reach out
down the slope
to what rolled away, long time ago

next she’ll bake sugar cookies
but not break, taking them
out of the oven,
aware of the time when he
came down the mountain
carrying that heavy load
on bent legs
and shattered the tablets

what was lost
can they ever catch it
unlike what their hands couldn’t grasp?



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Prompt: an angle or a bend