Mary Macpherson

The photographs of Mary Macpherson – with a dash of poetry


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Since I’ve publishing a few pictures about trees – here’s a poem I wrote a while ago for a tree that I spent a year with. An earlier version of the poem was published in the online journal Snorkel.

These days with earthquakes and tsunamis it seems a luxury to care about an individual tree.

The game

Tree, I’m glad we’re finally talking –
all summer I was riding a cloud
across the harbour, scooting
round the hills and metallic tower.
But when your leaves drifted down,
you became an elegant bouquet of bones
and I fell into your intricacy. First, I saw
you as curled hair, each wave twisting in
and out – never still. Then you wore
a sweater full of diamond holes
hung with rain. Through your body
I spied part of a hill, a house,
and then, a figure, moving. When I walk
into the room, I’m like a lover,
eager for our next game.
You are the fine naked restless one
I never want to meet.

Written by Mary Macpherson

14/03/2011 at 7:58 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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