Falling for a Japanese Maple
What man doesn’t long to sit
among high branches, peering straight up
at the white undergarments of clouds?
I am embarrassed to admit it.
But I had no choice after
snapping branches that I clipped
in my fall. What were you thinking?
is what everyone asks. A man
at your age….
As I negotiate steep stairs
with my crutches,
my wife asks “Now do you regret
your foolishness?”
I pause at the top step. A Japanese maple,
her red leaves tiling the air,
leans against the window,
her shimmering dress
as lovely as any kimono’s,
a beauty always worth
going out onto
a limb for.
by Bob Bradshaw
from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, April 31, 2020
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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