Pestle And Mortar Poem by Francie Lynch

This mortar bowl
With a pestled mixture
Of distillations
And impurities
Deserves a Latin name
For the apothecary's label.

A few causes for the concoction:
Pails, shovels and sandcastles;
A child bundled against winter;
A father's shoulder seat;
A son dressing for his wedding;
A daughter walking her child;
Kids with backpacks;
A soldier's farewell kiss;
The return kiss;
A nursing mother;
The wintery smell of a letter
And the anticipation of opening.

The symptoms are systemic.
The heart cannot contain,
The brain define,
The pit retain.

The symptoms are the remedy.
I am graciously and readily
Ground into a fine dust
For someone's shelf.