In spring I placed posts
and wrapped them in webbing
though you looked dead
I had vain hope
that protected
from nibbling lips you might
die most quietly
with at least some peace.
A single leaf
On a mangled branch
last summer
was gratitude enough
for my gesture
and I acknowledged you.
In winter the savage weather
mangled your nets
I knew it was goodbye so
I thanked you
as my feet crunched the snow
and waited a minute before
wondering when and how
to pull you with your roots.
You were so generous to let me
dream about you thriving
I had no grudge you’d given up
for I had, too.
Come sun again and, lo, I am a liar.
You are
Impossible
Unspeakable
Unapologetic
Exploded with confident leaves and springy branches
I wander up in awe to see
you are not as I’d at best imagined you
much better now, no nets.
At worship in the wild growth
a single blossom
grabs my eye
steals my breath and
puts the word in my mouth
so it falls out loud like juicy fruit:
“plum”
Should your flower come to nothing
I will always
taste the word
The question
The courage
The dripping puckish playful possibility
in the hopefulness of
“plum”
though you looked dead
I had vain hope
that protected
from nibbling lips you might
die most quietly
with at least some peace.
A single leaf
On a mangled branch
last summer
was gratitude enough
for my gesture
and I acknowledged you.
In winter the savage weather
mangled your nets
I knew it was goodbye so
I thanked you
as my feet crunched the snow
and waited a minute before
wondering when and how
to pull you with your roots.
You were so generous to let me
dream about you thriving
I had no grudge you’d given up
for I had, too.
Come sun again and, lo, I am a liar.
You are
Impossible
Unspeakable
Unapologetic
Exploded with confident leaves and springy branches
I wander up in awe to see
you are not as I’d at best imagined you
much better now, no nets.
At worship in the wild growth
a single blossom
grabs my eye
steals my breath and
puts the word in my mouth
so it falls out loud like juicy fruit:
“plum”
Should your flower come to nothing
I will always
taste the word
The question
The courage
The dripping puckish playful possibility
in the hopefulness of
“plum”
©️2018 Kristina Bauer
