hundreds and thousands scattered like ashes

hundreds and thousands scattered like ashes

the recipes remain,
ingrained like
folded away
papery scars,

or the memory
of a wartime lover,
felt over the lips
like a ghost wind,

or a slice of dust
under the oak dresser,
beyond the reach
of 87 year old knees,
bent back and broken
like hinges
embarrassed out of existence.

now the china plates
clutter the table like empty stares
and fallen storm clouds.

in the drawer of the dresser
(the dresser that we have already seen can cause trouble)
a rolling pin
lies in silent pain
like an amputated limb.

the recipe book
now lives without a spine,
hunched like a gardener
in a park,
innards held in close
with a rubber band
cummerbund.

inside the dresser
is further panic:

glace cherries have forgotten how to be red,
now browned
with pessimism.

flaked almonds
are little more than shed skin,

baking powder
has become a white mountain
that will outlive the himalayas.

tiny silver balls,
harder than spite
have spilled over
a recollection
of stacked china.

miniature images
of crystal orange and lemon,
like a jar of moon phases
all out of time
with one another.

neat packets
of fondant icing
have agreed between themselves
that perhaps
they could form
a tribute shroud.

and across the floor
the rainbow sorrow
of hundreds and thousands
scattered…