Contributor Series 4: Aspects of the Elephant
Hearts
By Mariah Boone
The heart-shaped leaves are from no tree I can see
Dark and dry
They come on some wet wind to crumble in our yard
No colors on South Texas leaves
They have no flaming hospice, only
Green, brown, dust
My stepfather, when he was the doctor that dated my mother
Brought me bags of color
from New England
Red, yellow, orange leaves
He brought me a snowball in an ice chest
Courting me with things I’d never seen
Mariah Boone’s poetry (At Work, Cellaress at Thanksgiving, Night House, Packing for Day Care) has appeared at vox poetica in 2009 and 2010.
Beautiful. This is so you, Marty. I admire you for the way you speak of the love for your wife in so many ways. Your poem speaks your heart.
I love the last line.