Second poem for Thursday March 28 2024 Renaissance Group Waving Goodbye Jill

[jill stockinger]

It Borders on trite, but I am hoping it does not cross into that territory.

And it is Solidly Anthropomorphic, something often NOT in a poem's favor. (Sigh!)

I started this yesterday, and "finished it" today, as much as any poem is ever "finished," I guess . . . Jill

Waving Goodbye       by Jill Stockinger

 

The trees stand tall, remembering

departures of the past, and they proudly

watch this year’s children:

their trembling, clinging leaves

let go, one by one.  The cold wind

partners with each leaf with curtsies

 

or by bowing: may I have this dance?

And the leaves, glorious in their finery,

flaunting flames of orange and red,

gold and burnt umber, weave their bodies

through the air with the wind’s will.

 

In surrender, released from individual

desire, the wind lifts and carries them

through the steps, the glissandos, slides,

glides, leaves bending, riding, leaping,

swirling . . . twisting . . . turning . . .

 

falling . . . the leaves danced down

into earth’s embrace for a triumphant

marriage with the soil, leading to

the magnificent surging of renewal.