wind in maples
the maple leaves are tired
their tips turned in to funnel the wind
the wind that hasn’t quit for days
it’s exhausting – all that swaying
all that noise
the out-of-control of it all
they have been bowing down for hours
reaching for the moist earth for something
to hold onto other than themselves
in pauses between gusts
I can hear them
their subtle release like bones bracing
under muscle contracting
that physical weep before
panic or elation
before the rigorous repetition of living
VANESSA SHIELDS, writer 