Autumn might remind you

Your cries

pierce my soul,

echoing-

in the only eternity

I have ever known-

The dark nights of winter

that stretch beyond horizons

where the minutes

swim a river of molasses

before relinquishing to the next.

I hear your pleas,

your protestations,

your recriminations

in every decibel

from a whisper to a shout.

I know your pain,

in all probability,

better than you know it

yourself.

My recall is refreshed

each September

when leaves fall at my feet,

colored gold and red

against a dark green lawn,

that will wither away

in another month or two,

much like we did,

all those seasons past.

It's not just the fall, you know.

There's all the pictures,

the conversations,

and bits of shattered plans

strewn across my mind

that point their fingers

at my mistakes.

How could I forget?

I'm not looking for forgetfulness.

Why would I want that?

I'm not looking

to dampen down the volume,

or silence your voice at all.

I'm just hoping

that somehow,

Autumn might remind you,

that once-

love was a breath

and you were

the only air that I could breathe.

Nearly black

Time grows dark

and fat.

Holding each second

until it bursts

into a minute that seems like five

before enough gather

to fill up an hour.

I count them,

mark them on the wall

like a prisoner

to keep track of the days

I've been separated

from the half of me,

that I was told,

was better.

I draw pictures

when it suits me.

They're all black

against the white washed walls.

You won't find

a gray line anywhere.

That's kind of how

the truth is.

Bold and in your face.

I sketched a set of eyes

and then covered them up

with blacker glasses

so they more honestly reflected

the way I once saw you.

I chose not to see the light,

the dark was much more thrilling

when your lies

blended discreetly with the shadows.

I made this place

where life starts

and stops,

highlights my errors,

and moves sluggishly along.

I guess if it's any consolation,

at some point

you'll leave him too.

But for now,

I'll put one more mark

on a wall

that's nearly black.

 

It's not that I've forgotten

It's not that I've forgotten you,
it's just that sometimes-
I can't embrace Autumn,
especially when spring
is waving from the hillsides
all dressed up in lavenders and reds.

It's not that I've lost or misplaced you.
I haven't, I never have.
Some days you do your own thing
on the far side of the world
with someone else,
and I'm left to my own devices.

So I wander places I've never been,
talk to trees I've never met,
and greet the morning
like I used to greet you-
with a smile and a body
lusting for some new adventure.

There's more colors in this life
than just emeralds and reds,
more seasons to wrap around
and breathe in, other than just fall,
more legs and forests to walk through
other than the ones, I knew so long ago.

It's not that I've forgotten you
it's just that sometimes
Autumn is so far away
and I need something
that's just a little closer
to get me through one more day.

Long after Goodbye

 

You never knew that morning

just how my fingers

craved to touch you-

to feel the softness

of your cinnamon strands.

I wanted to be your freckled shoulders,

to know what it was

to be brushed by satin

every time the breeze

blew it's breath in your direction.

I never wanted to be

so deeply imbedded in the life of another

as I was-

that long ago September morning
standing in the river.

You didn't know it then.

I doubt you know it now,

and I'm fairly certain-

you don't rise up out of bed

remembering the river

filling up your shoes,

while lost in emerald eyes.

You never knew that morning,

and neither did I,

that I would love and write about you,

long after our good bye.

I might have gone another day

It was the way

Autumn checkered the lawn

yellow and red

that made me miss you.

I might have gone another day,

week, or month

without thinking about you

if the colors

hadn't worn your personality.

But somewhere

between the last gasp

of summer,

and the first cold breath

of October-

they gathered you in.

Now I'll have to rake the yard

clean down to its scalp

so it matches my hair-

short and dirty brown

unable to move

in all but the stiffest winds.

Then I can sit on the porch

and not think about

how warm his hands must feel

holding you

against a winter

that promises to be,

colder than my bed.

October chill

Your hair falls

through my dreams

cascading

across my thoughts

on these

chilly autumn nights.

It used to be

you'd lie here with me,

and in the dark

explain the science

of why every October

the leaves would change

their hues.

I miss those conversations,

though I can't recall

the details

of photosynthesis,

biology, or geology

to save my life-

The science never thrilled me.

It was your movements

and your gestures,

and the laughter

that always seemed to follow

when you'd catch me

staring at your breasts,

and my fingers

secretly sliding back the sheets

that made the fall

my favorite time of year.

October's not so far away,

he's waiting

just north of the horizon,

letting me gather

my blankets and my memories

to keep me warm

when he finally

decides to blow through town.