The Gathered Estate

What heavy sweetness fills the basket worn

Each berry stains my fingers dark with proof

That summer yields her treasures to be torn

From thorned embraces on the garden floor.

I gather what the season deigns to give

And in my gathering I become the earth

That holds all things which struggle still to live

That knows the burden of both life and death

My grandmother kept letters in a tin

Paper, delicate like moth wings lost to time

Each word a seed she planted deep within

The soil of memory where the past is fed.

I read them now and feel her young hands

holding each one

As she preserved what time would try to take.

For gathering is an act against the void

A defiance of the way all matter falls

To entropy and dust we are employed

As keepers of the fleeting as it calls.

So when I hold a photograph and see

The faces of the ones who came before

I am the vessel where their memory

Remains alive though they exist no more.

We gather because loss is absolute

We gather because love demands we do

We press the flower and preserve the fruit

And make from scattered moments something true.