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May 2020 · 82
The Mango Tree
Rachel Moore May 2020
My favorite tree is the Mango tree.
From its intricate roots
to its slender, leafy ends
its shade provides a source of relief
on a sweltering afternoon.

I don’t care much for its fruit.
Its overpowering taste
and insulting texture.
But that’s not what this tree
is all about

This tree is about conversation.
About relaxation, restoration,
But most of all
True connection.
This is a tree that binds.

Its branches tightly woven,
giving shade to the expanse.
always branching out
yet consistently connected.
Blessed be the tie that binds.

Partings are seemingly unbearable
With tears shed
And embraces shared.
Though we are constantly branching out,
we are always connected.
That’s why my favorite tree
is the mango tree.
I wrote this poem after saying goodbye to friends who live an ocean away.
Oct 2019 · 98
hope
Rachel Moore Oct 2019
it smells like
fresh coffee
new paint
the aroma of rose
and freshly mown grass

it feels like
plush cushions
warm fires
the touch of a weathered hand
and embrace of one dear

it tastes like
a fiesta
chocolate pretzels
the sweetness of exotic chocolate
and bitterness of a decaf cup of coffee

it sounds like
old vinyl records
Marvel movies
the ring of laughter
and old stories reborn

it looks like
a family gathered
friends around a table
the sight of school children all around
and those loved growing near

people grow
life evolves
circumstances change
but hope?
hope remains
Oct 2019 · 1.9k
Ode to the Coworker
Rachel Moore Oct 2019
Oh the coworker
the unadulterated
unparalleled
utterly useless,
coworker

I love the way
your eyes light up
while staring at your phone

I adore the way
you inspire action
through your inaction

I admire the way
your attention to detail
is seen through your snide remarks

Oh coworker
I aspire to attain
your level
of not giving ****
Oct 2019 · 168
I am coming into my own
Rachel Moore Oct 2019
I am coming into my own
not in a flood
not in a storm
but in a drizzle

as a faint shower
on the cusp of autumn
nothing tempestuous
nothing tumultuous
just
a mist

I am coming out of my shell
not in a burst
not in a flash
but in a whisper

as a warm glow
in the cool of evening
nothing bright
nothing blazing
just
a flicker

I am learning how to be lost
not in a panic
not in a terror
but in a wandering

as a courageous vagabond
in her youthful travels
nothing known
nothing certain
just as
she is

— The End —