The breeze is chilly,
sky a polished azure,
melted-butter primroses
peep between my roots,
a metaphor
ripe for plucking.

Unlike me,
a wizened plum tree
who should be in her prime,
bearing scented blossom
and sweet fruit,
time after time.

I stand in shadows
of resilient
birches and willows,
slender branches
with bud and leaf.

Last summer,
the few small
fruits I bore
were rotten
to the core,
busy with wasps.

It’s spring again,
no Easter
bonnet for me,
no blossom
on this sickly tree –
I hide my shame with ivy leaves.

Kim M. Russell, 2017


My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Speaking for Spring’s Stillborn Sprouts

Magaly says that some weeks ago, people were absolutely delighted about the freakishly warm weather and she smiled at the feeling of spring in the middle of winter. But after speaking to a few friends who grow fruit trees, her smiles vanished. They are worried about the effects the unseasonably warm weather will have on their trees.

Magaly has been wondering what the barren plants might be feeling, who would be on the receiving end of their sense of loss and outrage, what they might say if they could speak to us, which is why she has invited us to write a new poem from the point of view of a grieving plant whose sprouts were just killed as a result of climate change.


27 thoughts on “Prune

      1. Hello Kim, So nice to hear from you. I am good. Yes, I am not much on WordPress these days. Somehow, my mind is too preoccupied and I am not able to manage to write, though I know I must try to write at least one post per week. Have a nice Monday, and a lovely week ahead. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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