-redbuds-

I wrote this last year about this time, and now the redbuds are painting the hills again. It’s my favorite time of year – I love the warm days in between the little spring winters. Redbud winter, dogwood winter, blackberry winter. I don’t remember the rest of them; redbud and dogwood are the only ones I really notice.  Anyway. You can’t write a poem to a redbud tree every year, so here’s my one and only.

How to describe a redbud?

ethereal.
posed beside a white dogwood,
you become fairyland
if i stand still and watch long enough,
i’ll see you
lift satin-shod toes and dance
an airy bit of Swan Lake.
–but only in some obscure ratio of sunlight and shadow…
outside of that moment, waiting is useless.

independent.
blooming out in a Bohemian frenzy of color
putting to shame the pink dogwood
(unnatural, unfriendly pink. like someone
tried to transport Japan
but squished it into
English manor subservience.
…so mild-mannered.)
paired with a pale weeping willow,
you are the dress that my
little hippie self wants to wear
dancing through clover

subtle
(my favorite)
-and it’s kind of a ragamuffin look-
resting quietly beside a dark evergreen
your branches standing out black in the sunshine
and blacker in the rain
not quite blending in,
or begging for attention… merely
complementing

you are
one
of the reasons.
i never want to leave kentucky.

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About ruthie.voth

Wife of one, mother of four, friend of many. Lover of details, color, good conversations, finding balance, and being honest. Passionate lover of a well-crafted sentence - even more so if it's witty. Weird blend of cynical optimist. I'm the worst kind of woman. I'm high maintenance, but I think I'm low maintenance. Somehow, people still love me. Must be grace.
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