I have written too many poems
about evergreens. About pines
and firs. About trees that, like me,
don’t change and go long winters
like they’re not cold. Deciduous
is a word I can’t bring myself
to embody, though I want to
be like the Easter Trees outside
that die, live, then die again. Never
scared of change or of being
forgotten. Happy to give their old
flowers to the ground. I want to
turn red and wait, naked, for spring.
To shift with the breeze. Anything,
really, except for the humdrum
of another winter where I am clothed,
but still underdressed.
By Maria Llona Garcia
Maria Llona Garcia is a 24 year old Peruvian poet and occasional prose writer. She recently graduated with a degree in English from Skidmore College, where she was awarded their section of the Academy of American Poets Prize. She currently lives in her hometown of Lima, Peru and teaches English while also working as a newsletter editor. This fall she will begin studying for an MFA in Poetry at The New School.