Palm

The river holds a boat,

a canoe,

a drowning man.

 

The boat motors away.

The canoe slips past

with a swish-slap of a paddle.

 

The bent bough of a tree sways, stoops

to reach him.

He grasps the rough bark

 

of the living branch—

and lets go

of the splintering soft-shadows

 

of the speedily dying

fading toward the light

who’ve no time now.

 

Reaching shore, will he

sputter curses

at his fellow man

 

or praise the Creator

in the helping hand

and become a palm-giving man?

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings 

 

 “…only God can make a tree.”  - Joyce Kilmer