The remembered sounds of his mother’s living routines lead the poet’s imagination somewhere beyond loss
Ceremony
After peeling a banana
you’d chop it widthways,
butter two white slices
and arrange the pieces
four by four.
Then pat and press,
and with a clink of knife,
cut corner to corner,
bring the first half
to your mouth without
needing a plate.
If I train my ears
I can bring it all back:
the rhythmic jaw click
as you chew a bite intact,
the muffled clunk
of blade on board
slicing many parts to one,
the bread unbuttered
the skin tears sutured,
the banana now whole,
turning spotless,
green, unripened
in the fruit bowl.