Scent the Page
Our Sapphist great grannies
never scented the page.
Their epics were the slim volumes
they branded modern
with strong firm hands.
When I close my eyes to remember
those fragrant afternoons
stroked by their pens,
when you and I were vaguely imagined,
barely glints in their eyes
on the jasmine path before them
that stretched down to the Seine,
all I get is beeswax,
lemon oil on the woodwork,
rose petals in a Chinese vase,
supper on the stove,
their fingers in the bowls.
Beautiful and memorable, Suzanne. I am sorry that I missed all the past week’s festivities here on your website. Back to the poem: I don’t get the connection with the Page of Wands, but that’s OK. Still love the poem. I used to know tarot cards, but the meanings have slipped away from me. I’ll email you with my latest news.
Thanks, Marjory. Many of those great granny forebears enjoyed taking the pages to bed. Double entendre. And as for wands to divine the mysteries of great journeys, keep me posted.