November and the Cherry Tree
(protesting colonisation of every kind)
We have had temperatures in the twenties
and rising, normal for this time of year
and our place on the globe. But last night
a spring storm swept in with all
the force it could muster. I watched
through my high lounge window,
the beauty of the tree in full bloom,
blousy, pink; and I loved her November
promise of the warmer months ahead.
But we get them at this time of year, these
late spring storms.
In the morning blossoms, light, pink
but looking like confetti, covered
our car windows and the yard.
And the Cherry Tree revealed
more leaf; the density of blossom
sadly and exponentially reduced.
The wind was still blowing, and
though we get the equinox winds
in October, this was a more
powerful spring storm. And yet,
I have faith in the Cherry Tree’s
recovery; a wealth of leaves
we expect in November. On many
an occasion, I feel as battered
if I never speak out.
I wanted to call this poem simply
“November” but so many are
already so named. A large
percentage of which shout
of colonisation; the arrogance
of an old world; even to months
of the year and what’s to be expected
of a word, a noun – a top versus
a bottom of the globe; and taking
for granted that November means
autumn and endings.
November Aotearoa is spring and beginnings;
Beltane then Christmas is the way it is:
of Pohutukawa and Manuka in flower.
November, as a title for this poem?
Something suggests no, do not go there today:
“November and the Cherry Tree” it is. And
this is my “colonization within literature” protest.
Benita H. Kape © 2.11.2018