Reading the Leaves
Liz texted me a striking
photo that she’d taken:
a red autumnal maple leaf
lies on a bed of gray leafmeal
decay trash. One old brown
leaf, still well-defined as such
and of a different type
I’m calling oak, just barely
touches fingers with that bigger
central one, whose veins
are forkèd yellow lightning bolts
against a scarlet sky.
Showing at the bottom
of the frame, a few fresh
green and smaller leaves point up.
The picture is astounding
in its beauty, which is enough,
and yet I cannot help interpreting
the image in a personal way,
as one arranged by fate,
whatever that might be:
I’m of the human stem.
Robert Estes, who lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, got his Physics PhD from the University of California at Berkeley and had some interesting times using physics, notably on a couple of US-Italian Space Shuttle missions. Since then, 50-odd of his poems have appeared in literary journals, including The Louisville Review, Gargoyle, Cola Literary Review, The Moth, Viridine Literary, Full House Literary, Masque & Spectacle, Constellations, Tipton Poetry Journal, Anacapa Review, The Madrigal, Book of Matches, and Sierra Nevada Review.

I enjoyed this very much.
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I love this poem, especially that last line. Cynthia Pitman
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