The Scent of Magnolia

Today I smelled a magnolia blossom for the first time. There are many magnolia trees in my neighborhood, but they’re so tall I’ve never been able to reach one. This morning, on my walk, I spotted a small young tree in bloom.
I bent close and inhaled — the scent was fresh and lemony.

I can’t think of the magnolia without recalling a very poignant song by Billie Holiday, recorded in 1939 — Strange Fruit.
​I found myself wondering: why do I associate the magnolia tree with that song?
After all, the lyrics tell us the “strange fruit” hung from the poplar tree.

Then I remembered: the song’s quiet horror unfolds in a landscape where
“the bulging eyes and the twisted mouth”
contrast with “the scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh.”
That sweetness, meant to bathe the neighborhood in beauty,
is obliterated by the tragic scent of unwarranted death and suffering --
the violence imposed upon Black lives by a supposedly Christian white society.

From now on, the scent of magnolia blossoms will bring to me
the image of tears of Christ — if he is watching.

​

Recorded in 1939, “Strange Fruit” gave voice to an unspoken national grief — its quiet power still moves through the air like the fragrance of magnolia blossoms.