Pomander.(Poem)

 
Pomander 
 
   The hurricane is garrulous with news 
   from the leeward seas. What is an ear 
   but a funnel cupped to the wind, 
   for snatches of advice and wicked plans 
   to howl down through? 
   When the lights go out, 
   you and your mother 
   make pomander oranges, 
   yours random, hers a close-filling spiral 
   beginning at the navel and winding out. 
   Each clove you press into the pungent rind 
   will leave a star embedded in your thumb, 
   and you'll …