Rosemary:
the shape,
the texture,
the color,
the scent,
the flowers,
the flavor,
memories summoned.

Growing wild,
spreading,
trailing vinelike
along the ground,
sprigs,
small leaves,
needle-like,
uncountable,
deep, dark green above,
lighter below,
sometimes white,
when rubbed release a scent,
unmistakable,
pungent,
earthy,
musty.

Tiny flowers,
lavender and white,
in small clusters,
scattered,
along leaf-like bracts,
a scent not unlike the leaves,
but sweeter, more pleasant.

The taste of the leaves,
fresh,
dried,
adding flavor,
memories of family,
of a mother,
cooking with love,
for her family.

All this is memory,
and memory is remembrance.
I remember,
the memory of a name,
the name of a girl.
Rose, perhaps?
Or Mary?
No, a different name,
the name of a girl,
but a different girl,
Heather Rose Brown,
a different memory,
a different remembrance.

I look at the rosemary,
the sprig in my hand,
from each of its aspects
memories are summoned,
feelings are recalled,
not of rosemary,
but of Heather Rose Brown,
a sweet remembrance
from a different time.

This poem and the included images are Copyright © 2008 by Colin Kelly (colinian). They cannot be reproduced without express written consent. Codey’s World web site has written permission to publish this poem. No other rights are granted.

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