Experimenting With Poetry: Mimosa

So when my cousin and I were children, we would play in grandparent’s backyard.  They lived in Mississippi County AR, where the earth was made of sand.  They had these two large Mimosa trees in the back yard that were conducive to climbing and hours of play.  This is a poem that I wrote reflecting on the Matriarchal impact of my “Ma” – Rachel Hope James.   If I could uproot myself in time and be planted in the past, I would choose a day at play with my cousin, in the back yard of a home in Mississippi County AR, while parents and grandparents sat watching in joy from the back porch.


I played on the shores of sand beneath the Mimosa tree

Tracing its roots, networks of thirsty searches

Reaching toward the sea

I have a memory standing there

( in the nostalgia of my glimpsing mind)

Looking up toward the blinding sky

I see there a friend in the tops of the tree

He is there because he is unafraid, unlike me

I prefer the earth, the safety of home

But he is free from the fears that security clones

We are laughing about something, something real

We don’t make up our happiness

It was always something you could touch and feel

And I walk away toward the south

My eyes to the ground

 still trusting the path of the roots

But they slowly disappear

And now looking back,

I still trust those twisting and troubled roots

Doubting though they were, they still always searched

And I know they did not go away

But went deeper

Where things are buried

And go to die

But be raised to new life

And as I dream of that memory, true and steel

I know what is lost on me and what is most real

The sound of the voices urging us to play

Beneath the sun

To bring pleasure to the fathers and mothers

And most importantly to

The matriarch

Who embodied God

For the children at play are not just having fun

They are searching for meaning and life

And good aim

Learning to desire

Only and all grace

Together we search

Him high and me low

And I trust we will both find


Though most days we are both blind

And that is the truth that will always be true

You never find Grace,

Grace only finds you

And this is only real

When we are able to remember

The days that we played together

Under Mimosa trees

We thought we were playing

Under the will of the one urging

And the voices of cheering

Encouraging our awe filled searching

 It was impossible, as it were

Because the thing we were


Was with us, her eyes upon our


                Christ shaped


As close as back porches are

To playing spaces

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