Ashes
Robert James Berry
for my Mother
Swing the mattock Slice the baked clay
Flints, chalk The blade works through marrow of roots fashions the six foot plot
Cotton seals my mother's nosemouth
... Her ringsfavourite dress
I do not know you
earthsun-brown
rills onto teak over final flowers
I am standing farewell ThenTonight Your lips still Your mask chalk
The 2River View, 3_1 (Fall 1998)