top of page

The Magnolia

  • Writer: Sylvie Epstein
    Sylvie Epstein
  • Sep 2, 2022
  • 1 min read

by Sylvie Epstein


The magnolia is raining

And my bare arms tremble


Why does your nose sting when you’re about to cry?


I wrote once, about you, and the day with the crunchy leaves, and crying into my mother’s lap


I turn over.


The white cotton of my pillow is cool against my cheek

It feels like a deep breath and so I furrow my brows

Why must my chest feel so tight


I sit up and groan and put on Shelby Lynne

And think about how I should write you a book


Down the street, my red leather boots make me stand tall.


She sees me

and smiles

and waves

and invites me inside to sip tea and read


The others come.


Someone has told a joke and so everyone is laughing

Then later, the air is warm and I am in my aqua dress


Dinner was good, and I am full.


Then it is morning again. my chest is tight.

the pillow feels cool and like a deep breath. I sit and I groan. I furrow my brow.


I think about writing you a book.


The magnolia rains


Illustration by Kat Chen

Recent Posts

See All
Ancient Airs, Autumn Nights

What is lost and what is found. By Iris Eisenman In 1915, poet Ezra Pound published Cathay, a slim volume of English translations from Classical Chinese poetry. He did not speak a lick of Chinese. On

 
 
The Flower and the Nausea

By Duda Kovarsky Rotta Carlos Drummond de Andrade is a name every Brazilian child at least vaguely recognizes—most major cities have invariably named a street or a square after him. Some say he was ou

 
 
Perseids

By Ava Lattimore I left in the morning with a stain under my skin. You left in the morning to wash it all off. I sat with my legs straddling your hips. Can you feel it now? You asked me if you were my

 
 
bottom of page