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    Jul. 07, 2011

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And before you complain:

Now a Poem:

A Poultice
By Rachel Hadas

Turmeric, rosemary: blend with rum.
Winter is fading; spring will come,

snow will melt, and leaves set in.
Rosemary, turmeric: shake in gin.

Turmeric, bourbon, rosemary:
a blue-green bruise leaks toward my eye

(a week ago I bumped my head).
I swab and bathe it. The bruise will fade

faster with this concoction
recommended by my son.

Soak a cloth and wipe the place.
Weapons are poised to fight in space.

Refugees packed in lifeboats drown.
Cyber attacks: the system’s down,

an outage no one can repair.
The turmeric has stained my hair.

The pillow smells of alcohol.
Wind and rain and petals fall.

Sunday excursion: Hamilton Grange,
the empty streets subdued and strange,

the widowed house perched in its park.
White petals gleam in the gathering dark.

April this year is cool and slow.
The stain seeps toward my left eyebrow.

Care for the hurt place: soak, swab, wrap.
And then, before I take a nap,

dab the spot with oil of myrrh.
The poultice: patience and desire.

Turmeric, rosemary, and rum:
my love and I are rocked in time.

The motion lulls us, we forget
the bruise, the wound, the doom, the threat.

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