Angels all around
Whispering sweetly to me.
Through the branches and the breeze,
Through this Magnolia Tree.
I stand and look up in awe,
The beauty and strength so serene.
My Angels still whispering,
With every bird and every bee.
The message so discreet,
To any human eye.
But loud and clear it's ringing,
Aligned in heartbeat with mine.
Subtle, yet so unknown.
Loud, but whispering gently:
Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.
right outside our tiny refuge
lives a magnolia tree
strong and beautiful
blossoming only for a handful of days
we find its beauty in pastel colors so brief yet breathtaking
to be adored year after year without fail
only in the perfect spot will a magnolia thrive, your grandma says
how do you know whether you've found it?, i ask
you don't until you plant it, you answer
upon arriving home
i will plant a magnolia tree in a perfect spot
because like our little family's
its merit might be discreet and transient but reliably recurring
Under the humid air
I sit, on my lofty rock and stare
as warm summer heat rises
I look toward the burning horizon
Butterflies dance by together,
enjoying the sultry August weather.
While nearby sprinklers twirl
and pinwheels whirl.
A breeze gently wisps across my skin
as birds fly by, weaving out and in.
Settling on a limb to rest and sing
before ruffling feathers and taking wing.
Bright with summer's flowers
Adorn my garden bower
with intoxicating smells
of magnolia, wisteria and bluebells
Some of August's simple treasures
brings the most delightful pleasures.
ALesiach © 07/26/2019
That summer in West Virginia:
washing myself clean
with brown water
from the Ohio river.
I saw gar sunning themselves
near the surface: fish with a thousand teeth,
fisherman’s nuisance. Like me:
take the bait and sink.
Matt takes us to the woods
and promises a surprise.
We slash brush for miles,
and I bleed. Thorns cut up and down
my skin. So easy to get lost out here –
multiflora rose so thick you can’t see
the sky. Crawl back to where you came from.
Plants move so slow, but I have patience.
Back when I could tell the birds apart
I held a dead wood thrush
in my hand
and it felt like air.
Eyes closed and tilted to the side –
because of the window, because a bird’s eyes
are not adapted to see glass. I wanted to bury it,
but instead I laid it in the grass.
For the worms: because we are all going.
We find the magnolias. No one is quite sure
how they ended up here, but they look exotic,
different from the pawpaws and oaks
with their shiny leaves and white flowers.
To be a bird in the magnolias – hermit thrush,
singing in a language too old to understand.
Voice of god calling out to say: come home.
If only I knew how to listen.
I see you from the third floor
you there with white blossoms in your hair.
I envy the birds who fly freely
And rest in your shiny green glory.
I wish I could smell your sweet scent
Hold your soft pedals to my cheek
to heal all the blemishes
make smooth the rough spots
witness the fragrance of my serenity.