Susurrus

Susurrus

by Laura Summerville Reed

Her sweeping branches spread out,

Down, and back again like the arms of a goddess matriarch

The live oak, Majesty of the South

She doesn’t drop her leaves to the autumnal chill

She doesn’t cease her thirst for drink

Unlike her sisters, red oak, white and pin

They shut down; giving way to grays and drear

She keeps and keeps and keeps

There is no waste in her

Not until she feels the velvet ache

The tender newness beneath her hide

Like a thousand teething infants

(and she, the mother of every one)

Then she’ll unclasp each tiny petiole

And let the old mantle fall

The trappings she wears are a deep golden green

She basks in the warmth year round

To a tune set in three-season time

Her suitors are sunshine and sweet rolling rain

And the occasional, jealous lover

Hurricane

She’s a southern gal, full of charm and allure

Her gray, furrowed bark is adorned with lace

Tucked here and there like green handkerchiefs

She plays a lovely host to the ferns and the moss

That require nothing of her, but endurance and air

Lovers leave their calling cards

Etched upon her hardened heart

And old men entwine their silvery beards

Full of dreams, both won and lost

I’ve sat nestle in the curve of your leafy womb

When my soul needed solitude

I’ve skinned my knees and elbows

Simply for the joy of climbing you

I’ve tasted the shakers of sunshine you sprinkle

Through the tops of your breezy boughs

And dared gravity to question me

On my quest to grab a cloud

I’ve listened close to your rustling whisper

A lover’s voice, raspy in my ear

“Susurre dulces, mi amante”

Susurrus

©LSR 2010