Kathryn Petruccelli

Some of the allure of the botanical world is how its beauty is matched only by its ephemerality. Both states can be what we might consider hyperbolic. I often wonder, in my human angsty state of trying, whether I’m appreciating deeply enough what I know will be in front of me for only a brief flash. I also often experience true moments of spiritual connection in nature alone. “California Buckeye (Aesculus californica)” is a poem about setting up that moment to share, literally inviting a love to be the speaker’s companion in it.

In writing this poem, as with most, I had a particular place in mind. When I read this piece, I am on a hill in Carmel Valley, California, waiting for a buckeye seed to whack me in the head. The places I write about are grounded in real locales, though embellished through imagination, partly due to necessity—to fill in what is forgotten, and partly because of the composite work of writing—a vocation that layers various pieces of experience to create something true.