What happened to the Chinaberry Trees by Clarissa Kendall

Categories poetry, submissions

we used to lay beneath each Sunday,

hungry, hands like mouths on our answers,

like tarnish on silver: didn’t we know


the roots would remain—rely on the shade—

permanence and god and love? Gentle wind,

didn’t we know invincible? And what

do we know now? Her father owned guns.


My father was one. Watch her walk away,

steadying the ark of herself on the bark

of Chinaberry Trees when the wind blows.

Always, see the brilliance falling out of


her, falling out of me. I can still feel

the fall. We used to know invincible.

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