By Lilith Louise – Contributor

Poems come from much deeper down.

Like the well reaches through my heart,

into the soft tissues of my body.

Poems make me stop to listen –

what is my soul saying today?

It says the magnolia leaf leaves traces even through winter;

A thumbprint of life 

once vibrant and seen-

Like me.

My words, they come and they go,

but leave a small mark in the mud

saying, “I was here!”

Because although snow piles 

on the magnolia leaf,

it is there all the same. 

It sleeps like words written long ago:

even when it decays,

the leaf colours the mud.

Even when mud becomes rock

it is there,

waiting in subdued whispers.

Changing the landscape of my world.

Being the ground that holds me up.

Spoken words were sounds 

that charged the air in a hot moment,

now brushing my skin 

on the arch of a breeze…

Too gentle to be seen.

Reaching deep like the sea.

Pulling on a simple heart string

and saying, “This was me.”