for my Aunt Martha
Consider this written with twenty-six
letters, a puckered mouth moist with stashed vowels.
I remember the scent of your name.
The thick ridge of blue-black consonants,
crisp M's and S's suspended on pages
of lace. First, middle, maiden, last,
chalked on naked walls--everyone
knows nothing exists in darkness.
A halogen glow on straw hair,
on lingering, restless eyes.
The unexpected smoothness
of linseed oil. The pastel almond glimmer
of half-moon fingernails knuckle-deep
in soapy water, hot enough to cauterize.
Your metropolis of blemishes, age spots. tender
beauty marks--a polymer of skin,
kneaded smooth by decades, eroded
by dented crochet hooks, knitting needles---
your slim lifelines embossed
by the smoky scent of talc and lemons.
Fresh, young. Delicate crinoline
wrinkles, crow's feet, Crohn's disease--
A calico swath. A turned-wood birdhouse.
A clenched jaw. A slipped wrist.
The coo, goodbye, of a grey-soft dove.
Twenty-six letters.
No words for you.
