Leaves

They float down like complacent sighs,
like memories that have slipped my mind,
litter the sidewalk like forgotten laundry,
or regrets, maybe.
But if I scoop them into a pile,
a crunchy pile of warm, sad, color,
jagged, but golden,
like the joy in that which is lost,
like the love for that which is
fleeting,
the delight in the mortal
in the moths and rust,
joy
what do I do then?

What do I tell the tree in autumn
who tries to hold on to her leaves?
Time passes, things happen, people pass on,
we’ve heard it all before but it still somehow surprises us.
But dear,
those leaves have got to fall.
you’ll feel naked for awhile -
that’s okay -
so will everyone else.

But I’ll scoop them up,
armful by armful,
until they make a great mound,
a mound of that jagged golden joy,
a beauty
that taunts
that it won’t last,
that it will soon be but a memory.
What do I do then?
I laugh,
and I jump in them.

Leaves

october-off-key

Joined December 2010

  • Artist
    Notes
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