Several measures past,
it is the scent of honey
that brings to faded memory
a focus of silver boxes precisely
nestled between horse meadow and
reaching stalks of wheat.
A golden sweet perfume
decanted, quite foreign
to plastic bears, onto silver
spoon recollects twinkling blue eyes
keen in knowledge of his cache.
My grandfather was a beekeeper.
I, a granddaughter of bees.
Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:
“And now for our (optional) prompt! Today I’d like to challenge you to write an elegy – a poem that mourns or honors someone dead or something gone by. And I’d like to ask you to center the elegy on an unusual fact about the person or thing being mourned. For example, if you are writing an elegy about your grandfather, perhaps the poem could be centered around a signature phrase of his. (My own grandfather used to justify whatever he was doing by saying, “well, I can’t sing or dance, and it’s too wet to plow,” which baffled me considerably as a child). Or perhaps your Aunt Lily always unconsciously whistled between her teeth while engaged in her daily battle with the crossword puzzle. These types of details paradoxically breathe life into an elegy, making the mourned person real for the reader.”