A HARSH SEASON

A HARSH SEASON

it is autumn
who comes
in his crisp
grey jacket
it is autumn
who knocks
delivering
a hundred
handwritten
notes
it is autumn
who says
we should not
be surprised
by his coming
it is autumn
who leads us
one by one
down to
the river that is
freezing slowly
gushing vein
of our small town
it is autumn
who tells us
on the riverbed
it is time
he is sorry
and the knife
of October
slides into
our sides
it is autumn
who holds
our bodies
as they stiffen
it is autumn
who lays us down
pulls happy sighs
from our mouths
like bright
yellow scarves
it is autumn
who we watch
sideways
from our position
in the sand
as he knots
our breath
into bundles
sets them to sail
downstream
on individual
dead leaves
it is autumn
who has no eyes
to look down
on us struggling
but has tongue
teeth and lips
to say
he is sorry
he’ll be back in
one year
to work with us
again.