The Front Yard, After Katrina

[garthranzz]

November, The Front Yard, After Katrina

Next door a stump in shambles but
the magnolia outside our parents’ house
stood its ground.
Did you ever notice, he asks, how tall it is?
No - I don’t look up, for I didn’t before,
not higher than the branches where our children climbed -
Oh, for a metaphor of ascent!
Yet grandchildren granparents, who raises who?
The magnolia, bare of its blossoms
and its leaves
stands a watching, weeping sentinel,
its starkness warning that the darkened house
is more than empty.
The grass, where my children played - and yours,
I tell my brother - washed away.
The potted plants our mother watered with a mother’s pride,
perhaps they’d do the dishes - now the dishes too have died -
it took two of us to carry the - do you remember its name?
The big one, yeah, that one - I never liked botany -
outside when it rained.
Another brother on the cell - yes, the potted plants are washed away.
The tomato vines on the side of the house -
those tomatoes never grew bigger than your fist,
nor half so sweet -
the tomato vines are washed away.
Since when does water leave a layer of fire’s ash?
He wants to know if you’ve the slippers on -
yes, but not the doctor’s gown -
no need, the house and grounds are sterilized.
It’s late fall, of course there are no leaves -
What mysteries, climbing, a child achieves:
Remember how high our two sons went? Just mine?
Well, yours crawled onto that limb - the second one -
until it bent him to the ground. So they get stuck,
our children, high and low. We had a cabin to get stuck in.
The rope ladder to climb, the circle swing -
yes, it did look like two plastic garbage lids glued together -
I got dizzy, but not you, of course -
but the children wanted to get dizzy,
especially the girls -
the yard toys and the tree toys and the swing toys
are in the garage
or washed away.
White blossoms with thick petals and a thicker scent
landscaped within the lot, just there
something else to notice and ignore.
In a year, or two, the white dusty residue,
thinned out displacements of a thousand miles,
with a thinner odor of decay,
may not wash away.
I wonder how deep magnolias root.

[BeatleBoot]

1. That's Heavy

Did you write that?

Its a beautiful work of art for something so tragic.

Thank you for sharing.

[garthranzz]

2. Thanks

Yeah, I wrote it.

I wonder if there's a forum where it would get more exposure? GD posts seem to get lost in the shuffle.

[BeatleBoot]

3. I just called my wife into the room...

to read it.

I woke her up off the couch.

I said, please read this poem on DU.

She just got finished.

Mrs. BeatleBoot loved it.

Asking your permission to email it to my friends and family. I won't if you don't want me to, but I think they would enjoy it.

As far as the GD forum goes, you're right, I wonder if there is a better Forum to post it in. Monday's are kind of slow around here.

[garthranzz]

4. Go ahead. Just give my "username"

I wonder, though, perhaps you should use my real name with it. What do you think?

[shireen]

5. vote it for "Greatest" page. Amazing words. Thanks for sharing.... nt

[aaronbees]

6. Lovely, haunting poem....

Thank you for sharing it and hope more people find it here. :hi:

[Raffi Ella]

7. that is so beautiful

and so sad.

[Nicole]

8. That is beautiful

Thanks for sharing it with us.