Friday, December 21, 2007

Autumn Wind

it feels so strange
how I don't fit anymore
my skin
my life
split and spilled out
like a devils claw
this feels so strange
to love the chicken wire wrapped around the fence
and the blue and white chair leaned against the door
the ribbon tied around the naked branch of the hackberry
blowing in the 40 mile an hour wind makes me happy
I don't know what to call this
the scent of dust and sunshine and faded potpourri
ashes and the garbage
the faded red of an empty gasoline can becomes a roost
for a sparrow
mighty pretty for such a dull brown
the neighborhood reeks of dead leaves and middle age
the children all go elsewhere to laugh
we drink wine
with our hands curled around waterford, jelly glasses or plastic cups
whatever our fingers catch
the cupboard doors are half on and we don't care
the ceiling unmudded, undone like us
showing it's age now
the floor slants and we don't notice until strangers come over
and they so seldom do
the call of the train engine
always sounds like the Nebraska fight song
we think
and we always sit a little straighter in our chair when we hear that tune
the dog, the wind and a book feel good
pressed against the glass I look out at my garden
naked now and without green
I want to work the earth and I don't
I want to walk and I don't
I want to cry and I do
stooped over shoulders and nail bitten fingers
fat bellied and gray haired
splayed feet and love handled
work tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and then
more of the same and words that never change
today and yesterday
it feels like fall all over again

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