Reliquary

The golden lock from my sons first haircut 
and his four wisdom teeth.  And a ribbed clamshell 
the priest held to pour water over his head, 

saying: dost thou, in the name of this Child, 
renounce the devil and all his works?  A silver fork 
and spoon with N engraved on both handles. 

I do not have a theca issued by the pope 
-the red wax seal and a length of thread- 
to prove these relics are authentic.  

My theca is the pollen sac of an anther, 
spore case of a greeny moss, 
outer layer of the pupa of the rose weevil.

Painted box where three Chinese coins snooze
until a question comes to mind 
and they are tossed into six fixed or broken lines.

Chrissys origami birds, the purple bands
with which she plaited my hair, 
obituary of a girl who flared into fire and ran.  

The long lost questions she would ask me: 
do you believe in nature spirits, 
can oak trees talk, have you walked on water?

Beaded purse made from a pink sows ear.  
My sky blue traveling case.  Sarcophagus 
of the holy bones of my black dog who could fly.


 

© Jan Lee Ande