Issue 23: | 28 April 2024 |
Poem: | 123 words |
Gingko trees drop their leaves all at once, which may be: true, partially true, or untrue, given their cosmopolitan domestication, with branches even here in the suburban Georgia foothills. Google says “true,” but the gingkoes around the corner on Catawba Drive disrobe slowly every year: days spent with golden kimonos only slightly open. Some say sudden grief can turn one’s hair white overnight, an eclipse in reverse like coral bleaching, but of course once hair climbs out of the scalp it’s dead and can’t change its stripes. Which reminds me of my sister’s partner who empties the checkbook every month without regard to kids or food. Like tar pits or a moth trapped in amber, his anger forever holds him in place.
Professor Emeritus of Ecology at University of Georgia, has poems, short fiction, and essays in 47 literary reviews. His work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and the Pushcart Prize for 2023. For 10 years Gary wrote “Ask Dr. Trout” for American Angler magazine. His poetry books Lyrical Years (Kelsay Press) and What I Meant to Say Was... (Impspired Press), and his graphic memoir My Life in Fish: One Scientist’s Journey (Impspired Press, 2023) all may be purchased from Amazon.
Author’s website: www.garygrossman.net
And his blog: https://garydavidgrossman.medium.com/
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