Daughter, please hold my hand. There is rain coming; look — a congregation of heavy promise
waits above our heads
to bathe us. It gives God
to our ordinary air. Aren’t you
beautiful? I have a gift for you.
hold my hand; k ep me in your tender palm. Parts of me are fading — your name, your sister flowers.
Did have sons? Oh. Why must
I be dismantled
s slowly? I’m afraid. Please hold my hand. I’m s rry.
Aren’t you beautiful?
I have a gift for you; diphylleia — the rain makes a s-skeleton most gentle from its petals, translucent when touched by falling skies in Japan. See how its colours weep
— see that crown of clarity, the petals
in their party dress, clear as
Cind rella’s glass slipper. Ar n’t you
Pl ase, dau ter,
hold my hand. Parts of me fading. A ‘t you beautiful? There’ll b ain for flow rs
today. I named you
fl wer, crowned you mine. Please
be utif l.
hold my hand?
First published on Poethead, June 2017