by Judith Vaughn
In the distance a tall black walnut tree,
an eclipse of her former self. Her branches,
darkened by fire, reach toward Venus and
the moon glowing luminescent.
We approach with trepidation and the burden
of farewell. Tomorrow brings sunrise,
chainsaws, and men who may or may not
appreciate she is Malka, supreme in her realm.
Sitting on the ground beneath her once verdant
beauty, our mouths hold words, splendid jewels
of love rendered into poems to surround her,
a blanket shimmering with silver and gold threads.
In the moonlight we reach arms around her trunk,
hold strong to who she was as Malka: A haven for
birds nesting, boys climbing, small rabbits shading.
Nothing left to say, just farewell and thank you
for the hundred years of your presence.
Click below to read more of Judith Vaughn’s poetry
“*Shelly’s Manne-Hole, 1967 or Thereabouts“
“Strange Fruit / Billie Holiday“
Judith Vaughn’s bio
Copyright 2020, Judith Vaughn, all rights reserved. No reproduction without prior permission.