Regard how I touch the earth with little violence or violation,
how I flourish when wild, when cultivated.
I am one and many of the name Magnolia—
difficult to uproot. A transformer of light,
I produce sweetness; resist deadly flames;
swallow bruises and careless cuts,
thicken them into sacred knots of knowing.
On street corners and in fields, along many streams,
I provide sanctuary for locals to sigh and sing.
Linger with me; redefine time.
Color of our galaxy’s milky stars, my blossoms
arose before bees existed—nature’s first flowers
and evolution’s great mystery.
For millenia, my plump seeds have fed squirrels and possum;
together we witnessed mighty mountains form,
watched the terrible lizards go extinct.
My foliage and branches sometimes whisper recollections
of human savagery, overkill—but not my complicity.
With each age, I express new hybridity, yet remain
verdant, aromatic. Draw near as summer yawns
with breezes of my ancient fragrance, lemony and lush.
Salve yourself while lightning bugs flash,
rise into evening’s cooling blue.
Breathe.
—
Catherine Fletcher is a Virginia-based writer. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tears in the Fence, Naugatuck River Review, Under a Warm Green Linden, and the concert series Concept Lab. She was a Virginia Commission for the Arts Fellow (2022) and a Creature Conserve Mentee (2022-23). She serves on the Poetry Society of Virginia’s Literary Advisory Board and Seven Cities Writers Project’s Board of Directors.
