Sweet gum leaves are my favorite. Smooth, waxy,
star-shaped, they glow in the sun on a tree across the street.
It’s magical to watch stars bud, unfold and grow,
as if some wizard boy, some Johnny Appleseed of stars
had wandered by and dropped a seed from outer space.
Somehow, I feel safe beneath that tree, as I feel safe
beneath a canopy of stars, its five-pointed leaves
reaching out to me like hands. I run my fingers across
the soft surface of a single leaf, wonder if I can wish
upon a star that’s rooted in the earth instead of far-off sky.
Lately (climate change?) the leaves begin to turn only
near Thanksgiving, their dark green gradually giving way
to red as Christmas approaches. Their openness and color—
lit by a streetlight when afternoon darkness settles in—
signal the festive season. When a deep red leaf drops
on early snow, the contrast is startling, the opposite of
a light star against a black night sky. And when they all
fall, a pool of red beneath gray branches, they slowly
turn brown and then disappear beneath the snow,
like a galaxy fading in the cool depths of space.
Lawrence Kessenich won the 2010 Strokestown International Poetry prize in Ireland and has had three poems nominated for Pushcart Prizes. His poetry has appeared in the Sewanee Review, Atlanta Review, Poetry Ireland Review, and many other magazines. He has published four books of poetry and is the co-managing editor of Ibbbetson Street. He had an essay featured on NPR’s “This I Believe” and in their anthology This I Believe: On Love. His plays have been produced in New York, Boston, and in Colorado, where he won an award in a national drama competition. His first novel, Cinnamon Girl, was published in 2016.
