Anthesis
It was summer in our new house.
In our backyard
the magnolia's brown leaves fell
one by one at first
then by the hundreds
covered the ground like
discarded brown paper.
"Maybe it's dying," you said,
and we were convinced of it.
But we didn't notice the tiny buds forming,
so distracted were we by death.
Then silently, while we lay in bed,
a single green one cracked open.
Perfectly formed long petals,
white as the test I held in my hand
with two pink lines.
In our backyard
the magnolia's brown leaves fell
one by one at first
then by the hundreds
covered the ground like
discarded brown paper.
"Maybe it's dying," you said,
and we were convinced of it.
But we didn't notice the tiny buds forming,
so distracted were we by death.
Then silently, while we lay in bed,
a single green one cracked open.
Perfectly formed long petals,
white as the test I held in my hand
with two pink lines.
Fall 2026
Calynn Liong Harris holds a Bachelor of Arts in English and Creative Writing with a
concentration in Poetry from the University of Mary Washington. She is a former professional
ballerina and lives in Alexandria, Virginia with her husband and two daughters.
concentration in Poetry from the University of Mary Washington. She is a former professional
ballerina and lives in Alexandria, Virginia with her husband and two daughters.
Art: Lauren Henley