“ανθόμελο” – Chloe Tsolakoglou

the last time i saw my pappou
he handed me an
old yogurt container
full of blossom honey

his smile
a fallow valley
hooked on the right,
the same i find
on baba’s face while
he assembles broken
ceramic shingles

i mention the honey,
how corners of luminosity
distinguish themselves

when baba was a boy,
did he have stamens for fingers?

of course, i did not ask this

he brings up a
shard of clay,
presses it into the dimple
of his cheek while
the summer etesian caresses
his forehead.