Among the fallen Silver Maple seedpods
I tell myself, I am here.
Pinching one between thumb and finger,
tossing it gently into April wind —
Among the fallen Silver Maple seedpods,
leafy branches cast shadows above me,
reaching out like an embrace.
Is there ever a moment or place more alive
than when the green is the brightest it has been
in months — I am here.
Science has determined that the trees
can hear us too, singing in the garden,
among the fallen Silver Maple seedpods.
I give, I whisper —
good morning, I’ve missed you
I am here
in a moment of stillness
among the Silver Maple seedpods
because I want to be here, right here
body speckled warm and cool,
ears open to the voices of the world,
I am here.
listening, talking back.
Among the Silver Maple seedpods,
some invisible insect tangles its wings
in my hair, vibrations tell secrets
in a language I am still
learning to speak.
—
Elizabeth Rose Bruce is a poet, creative nonfiction writer, and UNC Greensboro MFA candidate from Chattanooga, Tennessee. A finalist for the 2024 Dorianne Laux Prize for Poetry, and recipient of a 2024 Residency Fellowship at the Eliot Summer House, Liz’s work has appeared in journals such as Arkana, Susurrus, and Global Poemic and is forthcoming in the anthology Objects in This Mirror from Press 53. Liz currently serves as poetry editor for The Greensboro Review.
