Buttons

Monsoon lightning

Rips the dark sky like tin.

We quietly sort: Pearl, Diamante,

Jet as black as sin.

In the dry season -

Shops a hundred miles away

Buttons make playthings

As heat flies from the day.

Through twelve shady houses,

Twelve verandas and plots

Under a hibiscus tree

Mother pleats and smocks - 

Remembers make do and mend:

Blankets kilts, tea-towel tops,

Dresses of parachute silk.

Memory works Open/Shut, like a fan -

We saved that box of buttons

A touchstone in dementia sand.

Twelve Houses furnished and gone.

Now, a nurse tests for buttons

You know the 'thing' is round.

'With b?' you say, 'not a belt!'

The sugared silence is profound.

© Wendy Vacani

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