The Earthen Jar
Cynthia Pitman

I cradle against my breast
an earthen jar baked brown
in the noonday heat
then burnished a red-gold hue
by the burning sun.
This jar carries hoarded
effervescent flakes
of memories gathered
along the paths I have trod.
I seek a sand-grain expanse
with salt-sodden air
by a salty sea.
There will I strew the flakes,
seeds that will gestate,
break through their bed,
bud and bloom,
then flower my last days.
Scrubbed free of strife
by the grit of the sand,
their sweet scent will soothe
my trembling mind.
Petals painted soft pastels
will cover and close
my film-veiled eyes.
My going will be made gentler
by these memories ephemeral –
life’s transient treasures,
their wealth gathered
and now, at the end, well-spent.