Acacia

"Acacia"

for Mona

Dear and
simple tree,
you share your
name with many
renderings
of your flower.

A scent, a
colorful glance
that ushers in
a plush reverberation
of a deep truth

of a life.

The fronds
so slight and
lancet-like
bear up
great weight
and rudimentary
glow of soft
aroma.

A smothering
sweetness
of idle love.

No matter
your leaf,
or frond, or

flower -

the flesh
bruises

so easily
all the same.

There had been
moments -

a few moments
of concern,

days when
we knew a
fear for
your life

and did what
we could to reach
for your hand;

for your heart
across the divide
of being separate
beings -

being separate
souls.


Now,

now we are left
holding only the small
and supple hands

of
your daughters
and telling stories
of

YOU

that

wrinkle our eyes
at their corners.

Aaaaasoooulllaammm
allleikaaam we cry,

we utter -
our tears
soaking
each others
shoulders

each others necks.

My dear child,

daughter,
sister,
friend

I will hold
your bruised
flower heart

- Acacia blossom
tender sweetness -

in mine and reach
toward you in
the girls you

planted here
for us to nurture
and watch
for
little nuanced
footnotes of
your face

and lingering,
lilting laughter
that is yours.

O our sweetness,
our precious
springtime,

our beauty
languishes as we
see your

fading youth;
we wail with
fervent weeping

pierced to
the heart

and clear
that we will
resolve to end
this sort of

mad violence
of unhinged minds;

and to
whisper softly
and scream from the

rooftops,

"We love you,
Mona, and will
look for your footprints
in their hearts

and tell them how
that tender frond
and flower that tickles

the corners of their
souls is the simple
goodness you call them

to uphold."

You will be a
cinnamon-ed hint
and

hushed scent of
cardamom and clove
on the surface of
our lives.

You will be
the thousand faces
of

Acacia blossoms
pushing forth
in glorious bloom

from the fronds
and leaf-beds of
all our

lives.