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Creation as an Almond Tree in Abraham Kuyper’s Orchard

By January 1, 2014 No Comments

by Rose Postma

The leaves, which are not leaves, are silverfish,
which are not fish at all but wingless insects:

translucent as uterine vellum, antennae always
craving flight, exodus. Some sloughed by wind

as finger nail clippings or dried skin cells
to the floor, destined for the garbage can.

The remnant is clinging to the gray-bark trunk,
to the branches and the peach tree suckers

growing below the grafting line, not clinging,
grasping. Held, bound, always feeling

the cambium layer’s pulse of sap between
scion and stalk. Ready to be redeemed.

Rose Postma teaches English part time at Dordt College, Sioux Center, Iowa. Her poetry has appeared in Plainsongs, The Atlanta Review, Tar River Poetry, and The Mayo Review.