I Drink to My Fallen Kindred, The Leaves
By: Steve Penkevich
I salute the efforts of trees
Stretching towards a sky always out of reach,
Disrobing from their gold to
Stand naked and unashamed
Of their twisted bodies,
Their gnarled appendages.
The moon is polishing tree limbs tonight–
A silent bartender with her glassware watching
Over the quiet din of closing time.
The stars nurse the dregs
Before tossing a few coins onto the table
And vanishing into the streetlamps.
S. Penkevich is a West Michigan poet. Their work has appeared in Junto Magazine, Bellatrix and The Offbeat Press but you likely recognize them from the bar.