October 10, 2012

Make Room for Me by John Grey


I'd give up everything
to be third leaf from the tip
of that longest, highest, branch
of the silver maple.
I'd offer up my bones
to its fat, forked trunk,
my blood to its sap,
my eyes, to the piquant senses
in its lobes.
I have it in me
to change color with the seasons,
even to pale yellow.
No, jaundice would not sway me.
And let the chill cut off my life support...
no problem.
And winter float me down
into the heaping spoils of gravity.
It wouldn't even matter
that next year's buds
were nothing of me,
not even memory.
Or that, even at my greenest,
no one would know me but myself.
Presence gets old quickly
But beauty just is,
without the apparatus.


John Grey is an Australian born poet, works as a financial systems analyst. Recently published in Bryant Poetry Review, Tribeca Poetry Review and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Hurricane Review and Pinyon.

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