On Wanting More

by Denise R. Weuve

The magnolia tree needs water
No
Its graying limbs want water.
Reclaimed rusty faucet water
That drowns the lawn, rarely reaches
Its roots that fruitlessly stretch
Like Tantalus for a thirst quenching sip.
This tree wants more;
It wants God’s tears
But you know
God doesn’t cry
Not since the fall of Gamorrah
The lust of David,
The Day you became machete heavy-
Began whacking away at the rings
Marking years of desire
And generations of bloomed cream buds.
She feels the blade bleeding her
Reverbration rolling through
Her low baring limbs
That only want to shade you.

When you lay down beaten,
Knuckles bleeding from the days work,
You will want God
To remove the pain.
The simple blisters-brillant,
Proof that god has failed you.
Then you will know
The blisters have moved
From your palms to your heart,
The calluses left behind
From the fallen tree.
Remember the smell of southern magnolia
Against a beach side home.
Can you hear
The tears forming
In the ducts of your eyes,
Or the wanting of life
The chance to flower once more.