Ivy

Amy Bancroft

Turn over your palms
to show me the map of your life
in your old veins.
A pattern of blue
like the iridescence of a magpie’s wing,
like the one we’d watch in the garden.
Make me biscuits.
Make me scrambled eggs;
sing Que sera, sera to me
while I balance myself in your big high heels.
Sit on your bed
while I spray your perfume,
falling on me like butterfly kisses.
Come with me to a jumble sale,
while I search for memories of your love.
A warmth I remember
When I see your hands in mine.