I’ll miss the trees the most, the thick-
waisted live oaks, their arms reaching out
instead of up, as if pulled back
to the earth, weighted with the rage
of cicadas and the blues of mourning
doves. I’ll miss how jasmine climbs
magnolia limbs, how nourished I’ve been
by their intermarriage of scent and blooms,
blended with the cardinal’s tunes.
I’ll miss the reds and pinks of camellia
blossoms, their fragrance spurring my winter
walks like a morning cup of tea. I’ll miss
the swollen bases of bald cypress,
their knees like Tetons at my feet,
wandering in their shade along the bayou.
I’ll miss the flaking of the myrtle’s bark,
showing me the beauty beneath
the lifeless things we shed. I’ll miss
asking for directions in NOLA, a nomad
lost in the perfume of wild olive
trees, the sweat on her face as she smiles
and points, her voice’s lilt as, eyes
into eyes, strangers recognize each other.
And I’ll miss the mocking bird’s song
at the edges of my dreams, crooning
from the pecan tree outside my window,
as if caught in its own rapture, unable
to escape its reflections of the world.
George Such will graduate from University of Louisiana Lafayette this December with a Ph.D. in English. In a previous incarnation he was a chiropractor for twenty-seven years in Washington State. HIs creative writing has appeared in Arroyo Literary Review, Barely South Review, The Cape Rock, and many other literary journals.