Charm for Spring Fever

by Laura Madeline Wiseman

larix decidua

It is the virgin teen aromatic in resin
crossing her limbs at an arboretum encampment

who will heal him, heal us. Evergreen eyes,
spreading mouth, fingers long, that dream,

the way she piles her hair into a crown.
He studies the ribbed arc of her trunk—

offered, elastic as strong, a sweet manna
for breakfast. Yes: there are opiates to buy here,

to be slipped under a tongue, but this is relief
in solid construction with silk up her thigh,

limbs durable and medicinal, popular, easy
to split, a bark curing the dark of your room—

the humidity of late spring swirling around them—
the military dogs grooming and licking their paws.

 

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