Challenging Poetry

after I heard my grandfather passed

I lay in the grass,
my chin in my hands
and explored the shape
of a maple leaf, red
and fallen—the stem
gently curved and sharp
where it broke off the tree,
the veins spreading like
water or tree branches,
into points like a fan
wider and longer than my hand,
the skin waxy smooth
against my fingertips,
against my cheek—and
I wondered about
beauty and death—
beautiful death,
under the falling leaves.

April 2—Focus on a leaf or a flower