Poetry by Jennifer A. McGowan


Cherry Trees on Hill 62, Full Sun




Nourished on flesh and earth-cracked bone,
they want to touch the sweltering sky.
Trunks thicker than mules trudging through
mud; roots deeper than night.  They grip
the repeated slag-ridge where men
tunnelled only to be blown aside.  Is it a finger
I see bearing fruit?  Are those bark eyes
straining to turn?  Heat-haze shimmers around
loaded branches.  Dawn’s touch will 
burst the scab-red skins.

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