The Midwife's tale of the Magnolia: It dies once it is touched.
Clouds of sweet Magnolia fragrance
Envelope you. Twirling its stem between your fingers
Like Adam, you bend slightly to encounter the bloom.
Your outer face breathes softly against my inner face
You inhale deeply
And Magnolia flavored smoke inhabits you
Quickening the Garden snake.
Blotting from memory the midwife's tale.
At first you caress it gently, one petal only
Quickly, like the bitten apple exposed to air
Petals, one by one, turn brown, then fall to earth.
My sweet Magnolia fragrance dies, doused by
The chemistry of your moist hands.
Clutching the rough barren stem, you long for a word.
One word that will comfort me, to protect me even from your
Creation-the scarred core of my inner face.
Last update: 10 May 2000