Cherry Tree

By Stéphanie Filion

snow

nature taking its course

over the city

covering everything

in the school yard

children playing

all this life

apart from me

the oak still carries

its leaves

could not resign

to let them go

paper burnt

clinging

and yet there is one

on the road

parchment

on white snow

I move with difficulty

the snow forces my steps

to slowness

my balance

to center

I walk towards you

beautiful cherry tree

you who bore fruit last summer  

ribboned path

white on white

In the snow

I recognize on my way

lilac     rosebush

the little pear tree

in the fall its fruits

strewn all over the ground

everything seems dead

everything’s asleep

beautiful cherry tree

with your trunks intertwined

along the spiral staircase

in the back of this house

I’ve been loved

on my tiptoes

from one step to another

I gathered thy sour cherries

it was another season

the father of the man I loved

taught me

the art of preserving fruits

for the depth of winter

he has since left us

beautiful cherry tree

nude and upstanding

we await     you and I

the return of the geese

and fragrant spring flowers

Stéphanie Filion is a poet based in Montreal, Quebec, Canada.

     http://www.archambault.ca/filion-stephanie-lorient-louisiana-ACH003422686-en-pr

early morning

Walking in the soft floss of morning I saw a tree with branches bowing. On those thin branches, hundreds of young leaves—still tightly wrapped and frilly—were pushing out 

into the open space between their darker, flatter, more uniform relatives.

The fog’s damp rested on spider threads draped across the open spaces. They were invisible, except when I was standing in one specific place 

on the ground, looking up. 

water droplets

eucalyptus leaves

droplets left from the night's rain

touch focus

Long Beach, CA

                                                                                                                      

My second four-hour experience, this time in an urban setting... I felt inner resistance to slowing the momentum of my day. I was tempted to cut the time short. I could say I had stayed outside the whole time and not actually do it. But at what cost?

The sky was washed clean. It was a hair-blowing-around-the-face day. I walked the measured slabs of concrete toward Colorado Lagoon. I picked a stem of rosemary and pressed it between my fingers. 

The wing-like leaf-sprouts of a eucalyptus felt like small feathers, but the bark was crumbling and gritty.

At the lagoon it was low tide. The water’s edge was a carpet of green sea-moss lying close to the sand. Moist, sun-warmed felt, it was springy and alive under my palms—a fabric of thin, curving strands matted close together.

I held my hand up to the folded rays of a fan-shaped palm leaf. I could feel it catch the wind, and push—toward me and away—on its thick stem.

Over at the grove of trees on 7^th Street it was difficult to be aware. In the rush of traffic I lost any sense of breeze or sunlight touching my skin. I put both hands on the trunk of a tree close to the road; it felt as if it was quivering.

As I left the street, my pace slowed and my focus returned. 

I realized I was missing a lot by wearing shoes, so I took them off. More contact—it changed the whole experience. I felt the ground through my feet. The grass was still wet from the night’s rain. With any careless step across pavement a jolt traveled from my heal up to my skull, causing my upper and lower teeth to bump together.

I was vaguely aware of clock time, but could tell by the temperature and the angle of the light that it was a late afternoon. The sun dipped behind a cloud, and it got noticeably cooler. As the sky was darkening I walked back along the green belt. Gravel and sharp stones made my progress slow. I was attempting to feel through my soles, but not to bear too much weight.