Spring Will Come Again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holly Lyn Walrath

Spring Will Come Again

 

One hundred black birds perch on straggling branches—

a maze of interwoven fingers forming chapel and steeple

of the death tree and its erstwhile lover.

When they were seedlings, before they bore toxic fruit,

Oh how the trees bloomed! Twins smiling in the glass

of the lake at their feet, satisfied with their beauty,

rioting in spring, cherishing the tumbled buds

like a girl’s long hair cut short.

They watched each fallen blossom sprawl

across the water’s surface, ruddy bodies

seeking better shores, prayed over by the trees,

which dreamed of a daughter or a son planted

somewhere green, perhaps the center

of a wheat field, with a thousand little creatures

scurrying in the roots and butterflies cocooning on the leaves.

But now, they sow nothing

except the souls of the dead

carried on bottle-poison wings

of the raven, grackle, crow and starling,

birds who honor death with bits of twine and string,

a red locket dancing in the wind, doll’s eyes and shining rings,

strands of golden hair and bracelets of the queens—

a nest of memory filled with tokens for their auguries.

What part of themselves did these souls, these ghost riders, misplace?

What plane did they transgress? What crime did they commit

binding them to the darkness, to the death trees,

where twin hearts await, eager to blossom once more?

_______________

Holly Lyn Walrath’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Literary Orphans, Liminality, and Kaleidotrope among others. She wrangles writers as a freelance editor and volunteers as the associate director of Writespace, a nonprofit literary center in Houston, Texas. Find her online @hollylynwalrath or hlwalrath.com

Editor’s Notes: A death tree, blood splatter, and crow collage to create an ominous black on white image contrasted with the red.

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