September Poem September slides slowly, summer cedes softly. How thoughtful of time to show us kindness at this juncture. No scarcity of seconds for pecan leaves to float like lazy knife-boats, docking within squares we've built of plank and rock. Time for us to rake and bag them, time for more to fall. No slo-mo Vaselined lenses here; rather, a baseline unhurriedness permeates the flow. We fill the glass pitcher, add teabags, position it under the sun. Hours later, we carry it in. The dogs bark and sleep and bark again; the mail comes, and comes again. I've lost my taste for humorless pageantry. I want to be with those okay with simple love. I'll take a walk to learn how to end this. When I return, I'll show you everything.
October Poem October is O-shaped, a portal an airlock, a cervix a mouth blowing smoke rings or pronouncing the second syllable in OM. The end spirals closer, the spirals stretch farther. The membrane thins, The membrane thins.
November Poem November didn't happen like we thought it would; nothing does. Tennis ball is marshmallow, blackberries are teeth. Amoeba, it's your life to live! Writhe and wiggle in the unexpected. "The glitter of your ring distracted me from thoughts of desiccation." The wettest are the first to go. In time to do nothing, we realize the edge of that last slide has slipped. A new one does suggest itself, but isn't yet in focus.
December Poem Knives clatter December thick food strong tea light snow I saw an old friend. Our direct speech sliced through time, but what did we say? I tried on the cracks in sidewalks, cold smells and other people's urgencies like borrowed outfits. On the radio a woman described escape: in a book, a person leaves her life. Because you have to, right? My teeth taste unfamiliar. Outside myself sister's window strong black birds carve paths from tree to tree. Tonight, I'll fly home in a silver shell. Boy will my wings be tired.