In the Fall


I found another poem! Keep in mind this one is not supposed to be sad or strange.

The children laugh, the children
call out to one
another. They play
the games they’ll never play
again, inside the whirling cold
of this morning’s breeze –
occasionally dancing within
the sun’s glimmer, light
and warm.

But it makes them sweat underneath
the thick wool sweater that
Mom laid out for them an hour ago.

Their innocent voices jump in pitch
for every drop of their adrenaline,
and they shut their eyes to
feel the wind brush between the few
uncovered gaps of exposed skin –
between their knuckles and their wrists,
between their ankles and their shins.

And only do they gaze out again
once they feel before them stands a friend.

and it helps me think
and it helps me think

As I wrap my palms around my head
and lie before the daylight pouring
in-
-to this wooden box where I often
sit-
-and wait.

And then the voice of one tired kid
quiets down

And then the rest become like him

I hear nothing, save the sharpened wail
of the sparrow, of the bluebird, of the crow
and the churchbell ring – an hour later now

The firey light that the sunset brings
reminds me that I’ve not left this box

because I could think
because I could think

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