Magnolia

Like paper formed in the cupped palm of my hand. Up high where I can’t reach. Black-limbed branches with streaks of sunlight in my eye. Wind shakes us, and I can’t hear it, but you hold on.

Soon your parchment petals will fall. The sidewalk will tread those petals to bruises. I want to wait with you but I can’t stay long.

As I close my notebook, it slips from my hand. Pages and pen splash on concrete. I rush to pick them up clumsily; dust grains and ink smears. I wipe the mess on my hands as I rush away.

I hold your blooming image in my mind.