The Magnolia
She wears a pure, pink dress.
Nature is her sanctuary.
Curiosity is her comfort.
She sits among the fallen, pink petals
Of the magnolia tree
And wonders:
Why must the petals plummet,
Leaving the trunk blackened and bare?
The once soft, smooth petals
Have become withered, wilted,
Their distant trunk exhausted, parched.
Why must nature be so cruel?
Why must the young mind never rest?
Juvenile questions satiate her curiosity
While existential ones suffocate.
Unexplainable phenomena maintain a habitat,
Not in the magnolia, but in her head.
The puzzle of existence overpowers
The instincts and adaptations of nature.
Science can explain the latter.
The petals must plummet
So the tree can survive
The wicked conditions of winter.
But how must the young girl grip with
The flood of unanswered reflections?
Inquiries into nature quickly become futile
For an adolescent.
Dreadful, empty pits of interrogation
Into inward contemplation creep into the mind
Creating conditions inhospitable to innocence.
If only I could tell her
To bear these ambiguities for just a little longer
before they leave her bare.
She must conquer these queries
Before they conquer her.
Copyright © Irene Rozenberg | Year Posted 2021
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