In our palm
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
December stings my tongue as I spit syllables of
snowflakes into the air, we trudge
along shaven paths where leaves wilt, a withered bouquet
of once-velvet petals engraving vases
too elegant for dried souls.
The sky darkens into lapses of pitch-black, as snow pierces needles
into my feet, cicadas singing fill the gaps between my toes as you swallow
a snow globe, of white parkas on trees, their arms and fingers
gnarling the last leaf. You simply pry
from their weary hands, see the carcass between fate lines, crumpling
beneath blood of your boots. You wrench another,
footsteps scarring white until you have scorched
As Nature’s corpse suffocates in your barren palm,
decaying trees cascade into litters of rings
This is a piece about ephemerality, about decay, about how death is so easy in the palm of a hand. Throughout the piece, there is a burning sense of destruction, of carnage, only to end on “of rings / encircling trunks” as if to suggest a hopeless, barren eternity. The reader is left almost speechless, watching the smoke rise and the ashes fall.
Maggie Yang is a poet from Canada. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastics Art and Writing Awards and appears in HEBE, Surging Tide Mag, and Teen Ink. Aside from writing, you can find her competing in ultimate frisbee in Canada or painting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR