Elegy and Praise Hymn 

If ever I dream

of the crooked trees 

with green around the trunks,

dripping water from their twigs,

 

believe me, 

I’ve found the spot 

for my burial. 

 

It’s quiet in October 

on the narrow street 

in the suburbs

 

with leaves resting under 

10-year-old cars.

 

I go running at four,

and travel through dusk air

down these empty streets

lined with swollen branches 

of arthritic trees –  

 

dry as they wait for the moon.

Dry and there is water in my breath only.

Dry so the leaves crunch

as my feet hit pavement 

 

until I reach the dead 

end by the woods

where the sun is dimmed, and

the trees hold water.

 

October Holy – 

darkness surrounding orange – lit 

windows of houses 

and thickets of woods with secrets 

about otherworlds 

absurd and beautiful.

 

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Christina McDermott is a writer and linguist who enjoys exploring the connection between speech sounds and the rhythm of poetry. Her work has appeared in Levee Magazine and October Hill Press. She also runs a poetry blog: https://pocketmappoetryblog.wordpress.com/