I caught a maple leaf
within my palm. Its body
frail as parchment, pressed
with brittle veins,

just a tinge of gold remained,
like some intrinsic breath
garnered from a springtime ray.

I placed it down for sedges
to reclaim. They cradled it,
until the snowflakes came.

Karen Kelsay is a native Californian who spent most of her childhood weekends on a boat.  Her husband is British, she is the mother of three children, and travels to England regularly to visit  extended family and enjoy the countryside.  Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize and author of five chapbooks, her poems have been widely published in journals and magazines including The New Formalist,  Boston Literary Magazine and The Lyric.

Lament of the leaves was written after hearing news  that my mother had cancer. At age 83, she has shown me how tough she really is, and I have discovered an intrinsic bit of spring inside her that I couldn't  see before. 




Copyright 2009