BY MATT BANASH
Copyright is held by the author.
I love wind soughing through the trees but love the sound of wind soughing through a Japanese maple with a rushing tintinnabulation of mercury after a rainy night most especially best
Pointed tips drip like hot glass waiting to be blown into shape till each drop shudders down atop ancestors of rain and leaves alike in a wet matted mass of generational effluvia ahead of the leaf it left behind
The edge of the leaf is serrated. In his autobiography Neruda used the word for the serrated edge of a tree leaf. And I can never remember the word no matter how I try. Neruda was such a happy Communist
The sky is crying, can’t you see the tears clinging to the leaves of the Japanese maple?
Praise be to Japanese maple’s whirligigs spinning to earth surrendering to form and function
There is something circular and linear in rain soughing through a Japanese maple, a beginning and end, simply: wind soughing through a Japanese maple after the rain
Novel beauty explodes from each leaf like in language when the “g” in “spigot” is pronounced as a “ck”
A sunny day is saddest in the after all the rain has dried up, the soughing turns subtle and the leaves still flutter, but like an exhausted pro wrestler wiping the sweat from his brow and flinging at the camera…its villainous
I think of John Coltrane’s “After the Rain” and consider the meteorological context of its recording. Were Japanese maples growing, thriving, catching and releasing rain, or soughing in it and the wind in Englewood Cliffs, NJ on April 29, 1963? Roy Haynes?
- John Coltrane — tenor sax
- McCoy Tyner — piano
- Jimmy Garrison — double bass
- Roy Haynes — drums
A Japanese maple is like a man in recovery although I don’t know how just yet
The back of its leaf is russet red, not all its leaves, just this one
Praise be to the Japanese maple’s helicopters
A tree on fire can be pyromania or regeneration; I am glad this tree burns only in my imagination and hopefully these words
I consider such and return to the Japanese maple
A cardinal enters the Japanese maple’s bosom, and I think of other gestating, unborn, art nested inside all words and images and Japanese maples
***
Matt Banash was born and raised in Pennsylvania, U.S., and has lived in the Carolinas for a long time. He writes poetry and short fiction and appreciates his family and friends deeply and hopes to live in Wyoming someday.
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