The rocks that were underwater
two months ago are dry now,
and a woman can sit on them
beneath the bridge and escape
the September sun. But she can’t
escape herself. There was a time
she really believed she could control things.
Now she sits with her own brokenness
and invites the inevitable autumn into her,
the autumn that’s already come.
Invites the lengthening nights. Invites
the dank scent of the garden, moldering and dead.
Invites the loss of green. You can’t be
a sapling forever, she tells herself,
though another part of her argues,
Yes you can, yes you can.
The river has never been so clear—
every rock in the bed is visible now,
and perhaps clarity is one of autumn’s best gifts.
She imagines the leaves of her falling off—
how she loves them.
She imagines them golden in the wind.
Oh, I’ll be using this one, for sure!!!
I love it!!!
However, I will save it for a few weeks. The autumn here on the Gulf Coast is still a ways off! 🙂
I can imagine the power of this poem coupled with a hint of coolness in the air! Can I tell you how difficult it is for me to wait to share ANY of your poems!
I’m working on just trusting my timing. 🙂
Love and Namaste my friend
Augusta, your words make me soooo happy. Yes, there is a ripeness to when to share a poem. I love that you feel it. And I am soooo grateful you share mine. xoxo
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