I hike through the bamboo up
the hill to a lone Ginkgo tree
and fall in love with its leaves.
Golden fans wave, some flutter
to the ground, summer green still
in their lobes. These fossils with
no living relatives, they are survivors
a perfect companion for this only child.
I press their lessons into my notebook.
Two months later, its branches empty,
boughs tipped with nubs like
match heads waiting for spring to strike
so they can burst again.
—
Sherilyn Lee’s writing has published in Brevity, Common Ground Review, The Rockhurst Review, Emerge Literary Press, and Nonwhite and Woman: 131 Micro Essays on Being in the World, an anthology from Woodhall Press. She has been a Juried Poet for the Houston Poetry Fest, awarded the Westmoreland Poetry Prize, and a residency at Dorland Mountain Arts. She lives in Southern California.
