by Mary Hamrick
Autumn is like an old book:
Marred spines turn mean yellow,
staples rust red-orange.
Every stained page is stressed
by a splat of color. Rough-red,
like an old tavern,
we become hungry birds
and prepare for fall.
Shape and shadow are candied citron
as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn
is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,
Pressed leaves take in the colors
of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves
Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;
dark shelled, it covers up
summer’s weatherbeaten body.
So pull out your boots
and stand on an aged, wood floor
like an evergreen.
By the way, thanks everybody for the kind words and concern about my fall. The stitches came out Monday and my face is almost back to normal. It's amazing -- our human ability to heal!