Marcescent*  

by Jean McBee Knox


Throughout New England woods
in winter beech leaves hang above the snow
like ghosts, conversations carried
from one season to another.
No longer the deep bronzes we gathered
in autumn for the mantel,
but withered, nearly transparent,
veins curled in upon themselves.

The leaves maintain an ashen vigil,
as if some bit of DNA leftover
from ancestry with evergreens
forgot to flip a switch and let them fall,
but kept them on to see the season out.

They wear death proudly, like grasses
that toss their black seeds to the wind
or an old barn, its shingles so worn and brittle
you wonder why the structure does not fall.
Dying is hard, and often slow—
winter not reason enough for letting go.


*Marcescent: A withering but not falling off, as
a blossom that persists on a twig after flowering.
  The American Heritage Dictionary


* * * * *

As a project manager for Houghton Mifflin Harcourt's Reading/Language Arts program, Jean McBee Knox wrote many books for elementary readers. She has published four books for young adults with Chelsea House (NY) and articles for The Boston Globe, including The Globe Sunday Magazine. An enthusiastic gardener, she lives in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire.