In the yard, out back.
She witnesses the unravelling of our years,
The families favorite fruit,
Even in winter.
Later we go walking,
To watch the peppered sparrows swoop and poise
On the needles of her branches. Petals falls like
White parachutes upon our boots.
Suddenly, I love you.
We talk with smokey tongues
About nests built under moonlight
In her arms.
In morning, spring slices
Through the leaden sky.
Here is the end of winter.
Here is the end of many things.
2 comments:
Hi everyone. Thank you for your poems of inspiration. I'm going out of town until Tuesday, so I won't be online. Can't wit to catch up on what you created.
Brandi
I like the three different realities at play here, those of the tree and spring personified and that of the speaker.
They all work so well together in constructing the metaphor.
Also, I like the use of "morning" and how it functions as a pun, as though spring is mourning the end of winter.
Very nice.
Enjoy your trip!
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