planting trees, Easter Monday, mortality, written for the Writer's Cramp
The pool is empty of people
on this Easter Monday,
the water glassy, warm,and buoyant
as a float tank.
I drift into oblivion
my only thoughts
of death and transfiguration.
I twirl widdershins and deosil,
my arms heavy as wet angel wings.
I limit my time,
my skin crisps too easily now
and the mockingbirds are taunting me.
I promise I will plant them
a magnolia tree on the ridge,
a safe haven for their fledglings.
In spring, a young girl may come
to pluck the waxy, fragrant flowers
and braid them in her hair.
Tarot of the Crone--Shadow of Cups--Drowning--A powerful emotion has flooded all boundaries. Broken down all solid ground.
Written for the Writer's Cramp--prompt---planting trees