Ginkgo We survived Hiroshima and the comet. Our lineage predates the dinosaurs. Our growth rings can number in the thousands. We meet pollution with dogged resilience and our seeds & leaves are said to cure all ills. Gravitas. It weights each twig. And so we cherish our autumn ritual: Lighting our heights in a shine of goldenrod, and then— Caprice!— in a single day, loosing each leaf from its aerie— a shower of shimmering maize circling each tree with a platter of gold.
Rita Moe’s poetry has appeared in Water~Stone, Poet Lore, Slipstream, and other literary journals. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, Sins & Disciplines and Findley Place; A Street, a Ballpark, a Neighborhood. She has two grown sons and lives with her husband in Roseville, Minnesota.
Amethyst Review 