abby beatrice quick


Magnolia, Lament


I think about the way the magnolia roots move through the soil,

Fire and water, into soil and ash.

Bending between the air and the earth

I imagine him bending over the lavender, 

Grasping furls of grass, ginger and gentle.

The air is heavy and cool; moonlight over paved stone.

Melted Murray Mints, within a hollow room in the dappled early summer, 

I wish, I wish-

And I return to the soil and the magnolia tree.

Embodied within stolen ash and embers,

It breathes.

Fire and water into soil and ash.

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