“Ode to a Leaf Blower,” a Poem by Jill Bialosky
Leaves tangled & braided in limp limbs of the still surviving perennials, our yard a battlefield of trees towering at least seventy feet high, squeezing out the sun, & slowly letting go of their dead. I suited up in jeans,
In the poem "Ode to a Leaf Blower," Jill Bialosky paints a vivid picture of her yard, a patch of land besieged by towering trees that block out the sunlight. In an effort to combat the suffocating foliage, she dons protective gear, from jeans to gloves, to shield herself from potential ticks. Armed with a powerful EGO Power cordless blower, a machine gun-like device that weighs heavily in her hands, she prepares to wage war on the fallen leaves.
The blower's intensity and vibration, akin to a relentless whirring, drowns out all other sounds. As she triggers the machine, it releases a torrent of vivid colors—red, brown, orange, and yellow—into the air. The choreographed dance of leaves is both exhilarating and disquieting. Bialosky maintains a firm grip on the trigger, while her husband watches, intrigued by the mania behind the action.
Upon returning home, the couple enjoys a quiet evening, sipping wine and admiring the navy sky. It is during this moment that Bialosky reflects on the power the blower gives her, a feeling of strength that leaves her with a twinge of shame. Her husband seems perplexed by her sentiments, but she wonders if there might be a darker undertone to her actions.
Despite her best efforts, stray leaves persist, and more are continuously falling, painting the landscape in a mesmerizing cascade of color. Even after the battery's life runs out, the eerie calm that follows remains captivating.
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