By Gala
Date: 10 March 2001
Leaving My Magnolia
We planted it the ninth year,
a hearty hybrid Northern Blooming Magnolia,
and it's blossoms came a month
after all the pink ones had faded.
Not many, I grant you.
But oh---the size of china plates
waxy white and so sweet to smell.
I looked to summer for years
just to see them again.
And this year the spring cleaning
is sad, profound---
more paring down than organizing
with a different goal in mind.
So much acquired is just debris,
clutter to tax the patience and mind
when one is thinking of new starts.
The china, crystal
family linens tatted by aunts long gone---
he can have those.
The furniture crafted by three generations,
those can stay as well.
This was my home,
but now it is walls and things
that have lost the feeling
of belonging to me.
I look around and see nothing
that I would wish to take
until I see my Magnolia,
and know with a pang
that this year it will bloom without me.
I try not to hate it
for not keeping the promises
it was planted with,
try not to mourn the memories or perfume
of balmy summer nights
when catching fireflies
was high sport---
and I was just everything
you could have wished.
I will miss my Magnolia.
I will miss who you were.
and who I was
when forgiveness was a given.
But that man is gone,
and so is that woman.
So the only thing I can really miss
is My Magnolia
and the dreams that died
in this house that is not my home.
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