You could be having a vibrant July summer

in China, your country of origin.

Here, your branches are bare

while the leaves you dropped in autumn

cover the soil with a mat of mulch.

Now mid-winter, your buds bring promise

of colour to come in my garden –

a glow of maroon and cream.
 

You are an intimate presence, Magnolia –

sharer of secrets beside my letter-box.

Of modest height, your bearing

is dignified above my cottage clusters 

of hellebore, felicia, geranium ….

On mornings of frost, your pale grey boughs

are ghost-like. On bitter nights, a lone street lamp

catches the intricate filigree of your canopy.

I most admire your propensity to bloom.          

After that first flush on leafless limbs

you continue into December

as petals ease through glossy foliage.

I love the lily-shaped flowers you offer

as in the spirit of Christmas. Of many magnolias

in my street, none flower beyond early spring.

None – but you – bloom once leaves appear.

A former English teacher, Liz McQuilkin began writing poetry after retiring. Her collaboration – with Karen Knight, Christiane Conésa-Bostock, Megan Schaffner and Liz Winfield – in the collection "Of Things Being Various" (Forty Degrees South) won the FAW National Community Award in 2010. "The Nonchalant Garden" (Walleah Press, 2014), was her first solo collection. She collaborated again with Karen Knight in "Renovating Madness" (Walleah Press, 2018). Her second solo collection, "Unwrapping Clouds", was published by Forty South in 2022.