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.