Cedar Fever
a poem, by Aimee Wai
Austin, Texas is an interesting place to live, and deserves a certain amount of observation. Matthew McConaughey called it the “little blueberry in the bowl of tomato soup” and the juxtaposition is palpable. This poem was published in Only Poems in the summer of ‘24, where editor and founder of the magazine Shannan Mann remarked that the section breaks exploring “binaries/opposites” reminded her of “snapshots in time, like Polaroids with dates and names scrawled on the back in sharpies”.
CEDAR FEVER I. Thunder-soaked skies, last night. Words make seasonal change sound like an instance: winter / spring. I wonder about the in-between. We seem to last forever in the bleed thru: thawed / unthawed. II. After rain, shaken trees. I experience “Texas allergies”. III. Here in Austin girls take pictures off the highway. In the spring / in bluebonnets / in cowboy boots. I worry about them. I read poison ivy affects you more, the more you are around it. IV. Two weeks now, laid dormant. Locals say it’s the cedar. I act like I’m not one. A local, that is. A cedar too, I suppose. Unlike trees, I want to move and keep moving. V. Symptoms persist, maybe worsen. You tell me I should see a doctor. My parents raised me tough and / or unable to ask for help. I’m not sure which is worse. VI. A cowboy fellow calls me ma’am. VII. I think the flowers are beautiful despite them trying to kill me. We have no perspective for each other’s tolerance.
Writing by: Aimee Wai
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Essays and poems on the lived experience. A place for expression and creativity.