A Poem by Mary Ann Honaker

OAK

I am like the oak: early February

and still she clasps her crisp rust-

hued leaves. They whisper yet

in every breeze, as if summer

were not spent, as if winter

has not glued with ice one perfect

leaf which I peeled from the deck.

Look at it, all of its veins visible!

It has not been ground into earth

underneath frostbitten feet.

I, too, hold each love long past

its fair and reasonable season.

Only when spring comes will I

release it, because a bud is in its place.

---

Mary Ann Honaker is the author of Becoming Persephone (Third Lung Press, 2019). Her poems have appeared in Bear Review, JMWW, Juked, Little Patuxent Review, Rattle.com, Sweet Tree Review, and elsewhere. Mary Ann holds an MFA from Lesley University. She currently lives in Beaver, West Virginia.