The Black Band

Ode to the Elastic on My Table

She stands on the hills of Killarney,
Sends one wave of good-bye to her life
Then turns: the land calls for a tilling
(As the sailor called for his wife.)

She weeps with the truth of the parting -
Once grown they never return.
And her cry, the hope of all mothers,
Is heard in the heart of her bairn.

“Don’t work to remember your childhood
For glimmers will come as the rain
Nourishes all that you’re planting
In the place where you’ve staked a claim.

A claim that began in home’s kitchen.
And as you packed for one of your own,

You freed your hair for laughter
With the toss of a small black band
That will always serve to remind me
Of the good that comes from the land.”



Beth November 2007