Camellias

when I sold my house to the golf course,

I took cuttings from the camellias

in my front yard and gave them

to my mother to root.

I drove back to Augusta during the first practice round to bring one to North Carolina

for a friend. I didn’t take the interstate—

I prefer a South Carolina state road, where trees make forests,

farmland rolls over hills, rivers and creeks

threading the landscape under a

great painted sky, freshly unfurled leaves fluttering their dance

in the easy breeze. I made a couple of other stops,

visits, if you will,

complete,

embracing shoulders and hips.

During one, the camellia nestled in the floorboard.

I could relate. The violets in my mouth were softer,

everything else was bigger,

Harder.

I gave and received, and

you should have seen the trees.