Marshlands Magnolia

Marshlands Magnolia
     For Mimi and Pop, the roots of our Marshlands Magnolia 

It didn't take a magic wardrobe,
the red pill, or even a funny-sounding spell
to enter that realm:
                              You simply ducked
beneath the overhanging boughs that fell
to kiss the oystered drive,
and with a little luck
and a child's eye
you'd look around to find
the world had undergone a transformation.

Like Treebeard's gnarled fingers bending down
to lift the shire-folk, the bottom branches
offered the smallest child the chance
to scurry up and perch atop its crown
as King of the Marshy Kingdom,
the dreaded pirate of the Beaufort River,
Mowgli, boy of the jungle,
                                          or some
other ploy of the imagination.

     But here I'll pause to recognize
     my tendency to over-intellectualize
     the past when feeling sentimental;

And yet I cannot find it coincidental
that as we clambered up the tree
to pluck the Spanish moss and dreams
we knew were dangling from the top,
we were blissfully unaware
of what was going on
beneath the surface,
unaware the miles upon
                                    miles of aged roots were there
to hold us up
as we chased the sky,
unaware of the symbolism taking place
in the Marshlands Magnolia.

   For still we climb
   and reach for dreams
   as we had done as children:
   And though our goals take on a different shape,
                    we know
   that there are family roots below
   (planted deep and made firm with time)
   that hold us steady as we climb.