It’s impossible to be surrounded by decay
and not age a little;
my marcescent memories made rings ago,
but grief is a painful part of how I grow,
and I’m a little worried
when we stopped holding hands,
and you took the swizzle slide
out of my reach,
our branching relationship
forked on fall’s plate,
and you twirled in glee
before rotting by my side.
Yeah, maybe I survived,
but I’m a little worried
a part of me died.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
My morning walk musings of the tree’s feelings, paired with some ekphrastic musical inspiration. Marscence is most interesting. Why do the trees hold on to their leaves or why do they let them go? I may write more on this as our season shifts. Are we similar, do you think?
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
A new word for me, although the phenomena has long intrigued me. Thanks for this morning inspriation.
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Oh, wonderful. So glad this inspired you, VJ.
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Magnificent poetry, K. I think we are similar. Sometimes we let go, sometimes we don’t…
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I too didn’t know what this word meant and what a moving and motivating poem ❤️👍
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Think you kindly, Michele. My morning walks are inspiring me.
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Keep it up ! It is motivating me ❤️
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Beautiful poem!
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Thank you. 😊
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Beautiful poem and fascinating conundrum – why do they hang on to some of their leaves?
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A bit like a baby blanket or fond childhood plushie, perhaps? Or is there stubbornness or fear perhaps making them cling to what they have.
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Ah yes, who is doing the clinging? The leaf or the tree …
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