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My Trees at Dusk by Nancy Iannucci

My Trees at Dusk

This year, I am grateful.
It’s the year of alfalfa.
I can walk the field to you;
see you-
a simple task I cannot do
in times of corn.
It’s been five years too long.
I follow the thin trail I’ve worn
breathing in the petrichor.
Your musk! Oh
your scent at dusk
vibrates within me like
a band of crickets.
Your figure grows fierce
against the setting sun.
some say they turn
a flank of towering trolls
while calling me
Vanessa Ives for
loving you
like this-
but this is the hour!
And so I walk faster.
I approach your muscular
roots & bow like a fool
under your crown.
Oh how I love the way
you take me in
shaking ravens from your limbs
in preparation for my climb.
The warm wind rustles
your hair around my shoulders
& we fall back
into the black
of the silhouette hour
cursing the corn
for separating us.

by Nancy Iannucci

Editor’s Note: One would think an ode required the use of meter and rhyme, but this poem disproves that theory with clever personification and evocative imagery.


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