That I could rub this belly and conjure
on her fat wrist, saffron highlights in the sun.
cruel knack for a joke, the same glossy hair
into swans or pull tomatoes from vines
too. She won’t know that, years before
or neighbors gathering in lines to give blood,
when the first floods rippled at your door.
mercurial flashes. Light in the dark.
I can’t remember, places I’ve never
of bay leaves, the mingled scents
into pots in all the right combinations.