Eternity's Yellow Dress Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

August trees in wigs
once stood
blooming
in their overgrown
bushy hair,

shamrock, fern
and sun-hit
and chewed
teal leaves flying

olive and viridian
ribbons
to swim
and wallow
with wind-hacked

leaves spat out
into shreds
of moss hue, seafoam
leaves falling off,
as green trees

paled into flaxen
and dijon,
some of their leaves.

September sipped
of traces of green
blood on leaves,

and let October flex
its sharper shears
to give trees
a half-clean shave.

(ii)

Green dusk September
still dressed
in forest and emerald
rubbed on its skin

with olive oil to turn
green leaves
into hunter green

to hunt for more
chlorophyll cream,
but their green dress
won't stay still,

as the month bounces
into October's
mouth sneezing out
chunks of yellow spittle,

and winds take over
the painter's brush,
while days gallop
into October's core

unclothing all
embroidered green
frocks and shirts.

(iii)

In the cold winds,
they've flipped off all
green leaves,
trees wearing only
a silver transparent
gown of air.

Branches stick out now
as skinned bones
and phalanges, no
flesh of green leaves

hanging on brittle
twigs losing their voice
in muttering gales:

There're no more
clusters of leaves
to strike palm with palm,

leaves' palms losing
fingers and thumbs to winds.

(iv)

Only specks and shreds
of yellow hang on
to the skeleton

of a maple tree, its body
burnt off by the fire
of winds and gales
chewing off
dotted yellow leaves.

Ah, the leaves' throats
are not cut,
as unclothed branches
whirr and murmur


with broken stuttering
voices, stringed
stars of longevity shining
to bring back

in light years
all green
dresses snatched
by September's dusk

and October
in its full wings flying
through November

to the doors
of December
spelling Christ's eternity
with a birth,

an egg broken into
the sunshine
beaming
over life's whimper.