Small enough 

to be slipped into 

 

a purse of siglaton silk

to be a bride’s listed

 

nuptial gift as miscellaneous 

beside cups for bloodletting

 

imperfect enough

to be discarded

 

but once, it held the volatile

oil of myrtle

 

calumus, lentisk

pomegranate rind

 

once, a new wife 

keeping vigil over the sick 

 

let fall

a few drops of its contents

 

onto the brow of a husband

mother, new-born child

 

and watched how fever retreats 

how life rebounds

​

 

Mary Jane Holmes