All That My Mother Cultivates
On the morning of his death, my mother: a lone
cypress, statuesque in her mourning
even as rising smoke clouded her vision
Plum blossoms cast downward, she morphed
into a resolute blackthorn boasting branches
bursting with tales of courage amid darkness
Autumn crept in and she invited the lost
to harvest her fruit as the fading world
oscillated between darkness and light
She teaches me how to forage wild fennel
and radish greens — the spiced aroma of anise waltzes
with a subtle mustard melody of earth-warmed resilience
Umbel flowers extend proud heads upward,
amber brilliance quivering over parched land.
We delight in spotting whimsical wood sorrel
Heart-shaped leaflets grouped in threes
fold up at night and unfurl again
with the sleepy smile of dawn
As golden hour illuminates the first buds
of magnolia, sporadic blooms appear,
eager to take in the first rains of June
Amid the deserts of Southern California,
an unmistakable fragrance permeates
the night air, not soon to be forgotten.
About the Author: Melody Wang currently resides in sunny Southern California with her dear husband. In her free time, she dabbles in piano composition and also enjoys hiking, baking, and playing with her dogs. She can be found on Twitter @MelodyOfMusings.
Image Credit: Digitally enhanced image of a Magnolia from Curtis’s Botanical magazine. London ; New York [etc.] Academic Press [etc.]. Courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library. Creative Commons License 2.0.