The Field On a Cracked Palm of the Hand
Abandoned childhood home
Was still filled with corn bread scent
And ethereal steps of heartless motherhood.
The music box, found in the corner of the room, laid
Full of Mozart and scars,
Old cabinet
With drawers for storing
Always freshly harvested frost,
That all,
And rare watermark of father's eye
In invisible aquarelle,
Forced her to freeze the heart
And clenched the fist,
Preventing memories to spill over the soul
Like the endless field
On a cracked palm of the hand.
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