By Joanna Weston

Mother lost
the green glass brooch
Father gave me

dropped it
between apple tree and lavender
somewhere on the path
to becoming an emerald

I clipped grass with scissors
turned soft earth
found a knife patterned with fish
and a spoon engraved with leaves

Mother sketched patterns of bark
details of miniature:
an ant on a grass stem,
a speed of red spiders
bees endlessly fussing
      while I wept
      the emptiness of green

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