Fall by Jerri Hardesty

It’s the first cold morning, I see

squash, gourds, pumpkins, kale, collards cabbage, lying ceremoniously

in lines in front of the village store, farmers planting winter crops

under grey skies. When did I start counting every minute of my life??


Old memories blow in with the first chill of winter.

I walk through town, up the back steps of my empty apartment,

to wait for the electrician to come repair my washing machine.

When did I start feeling I was running out of time?


To skirt the woods, to walk through town, to avoid the high

grass, the wildflowers is a loss to urgent necessity.

When I am smelling the cool moist air before winter,

an odor from another world, it is an opening

for loving my loves with the time I have left.

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