The Christ Tree Twists

I love how the dogwood
bends~
following its own lead
turning to the whispers
of the laurel, oak and ivy
as they mingle in the woods.

Outside my window
a great white lady
readies herself to bloom
sap rising
ripening her tight buds ~
the warm spring sun
seducing her to burst forth
in lacy splendor.

Christ's blossoms,
cross shaped petals
tinged as though with sacred blood
they say ~
and in each center
there his crown.

I do not think
sweet Jesus hung
upon a dogwood
yet we yearn for mystic symbols
connections ~
wherever they might be
organic matter
to fertilize our faith.

Even in a tree ~ poor tree ~
just wanting to twist and turn
and share its beauty
with the sun
while all it asks of us
is the deep breath ~
the aah!
and silent yes
acknowledging its gift
so simple ~ so magnificent.

Joanne Cucinello ©2008

Cinderella Lost

(This is a new version of my poem from 2009)

They've stopped looking.
It's been twelve years now.
We searched for her
in every town
even miles from here.
She was gone . . . just like that.
We posted her picture everywhere
and all the leads were just dead ends.

She was young and pretty, my sister,
just a kid when she left, funny too . . .
We used to dream together
hiding under the bed with flashlights
pretending we were going to the ball
to meet the Prince, pretending we had
slippers made of glass.

She whispered in my ear one night
just before we fell asleep . . ."I've found the Prince!"
and I rolled over and sighed, "Such a hopeless Cinderella!"
Two nights later, she disappeared
and the rain blew in from her open window.

Yesterday I found a letter stuck between the doorsill
and this picture . . . Here, look!
All it said was "Do you know me"?

She was just a kid but
I'd know those eyes anywhere.
Look at her . . . think hard!
Have you seen her?
Can't you see . . . it's Cinderella?

Joanne Cucinello