Ode to a Winter TreeNote #1: I was living in Pleasant Hill, California. It never snows in Pleasant Hill, California.
by Mitali Bose
Her scraggly arm is a silhouette against the winter sky,
The claw that scratches the empty air echoes her lonely sigh,
Gone is the warmth of green foliage that covers with sweet embrace,
She prays and pleas for blossoming buds to shelter her ugly face,
Her only answer is the callous snow that tries to bury her grief,
And slyly swallows the warmth that is left like a cold and sneaky thief.
Note #2: There were only six other entries for the contest.
Note #3: The Bonnie S. Baker Creative Writing Award always adorns the wall of my writing space.
2 comments:
Wonderful, Mitali. And a heart congratulations on your award. I still have my high-school "foreign policy" paper on Quebec's separatist movement. It begins, "Where is Quebec? one may ask."
Thanks for sharing that poem. You can read those teen years all over it - "lonely sigh," "gone is the warmth," "ugly face," "bury her grief."
I wonder how you'd write it now.
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