THE APOTHECARY (A Prompted Poem)

THE APOTHECARY


Abuela, she of the magic tales and prayer,
prescribed bowls of garlic for all ailment and sundry:
reason enough for her to till a large plot of this clove,

seasoning not only the day’s repast but also
our old home where---without that distinct scent---
no one would truly be home. O, grandmother,

in your eternal garden where your enchanted
hammock must dangle between the tallest oaktrees,
send this ill Earth some crescent cloves, crush them,

and gently wrap them around the hearts of men
who have, like Cain, cavalierly killed their brothers,
fathers their daughters, mothers their sons and lovers.

Mamita, in our yard, three stalks of garlic have kept
their heads above the snow in what is now a long
and cruel winter. In garlic we trust, abuela querida.


—Albert B. Casuga
Mississauga, Ont. 02-27-11

The prompt for this poem is "found" in the following images:

Three stalks of garlic in the yard have kept their heads throughout this long winter, seasoning the snows. The distant fluting of geese. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 02-27-11 (http://www.morningporch.com/)