The roses begin to fade and I consider
closing the windows at night but choose
blankets instead. I dream that an old friendhas taken to drink again, and the pain of it
blooms in the dark cavern of my chest, a deep-
red lily, a beautiful wound. Berries ripenon the bushes. Uncountable birds. One bright
morning I find a kestrel in the dogwood,
eyeing the well-fed sparrows. Flowerbedshum with gold wasps, black wasps, grass-
hoppers, a black-and-white cat crouched
beneath the clematis. Old friend, how is itthat people are at ease with one another?
When I return from my walk by the river,
a hundred finches fly up from the gate.
Autumn
3 responses to “Autumn”
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I am moved, which is my test for art.
Barbara -
I love your poetry Sharon. It makes me feel like a guitar string that has been plucked.
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You have made me
a city-dweller now
long for the country spaces and long to walk by the river. Fran
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