Amy Cuneo


We, the magnolia tree
in winter walls white,
and deep:
We are the softest
purple pulp of sad songs
made beautiful,
over the smoothing of time.
Oceans rolled us over
in youth and
ironed all our wrinkles out
and left them floating
And while the summer young
were smiling,
we were dying.
We huddled gravely
roots cuddled us bravely,
til in the stillest night
of the whitest despair
through season's roof
we broke up through the cracks
in and unlikely pair
royal honoured display
amongst darkest days
magnolia magnified,
the fairest of fair.