It’s autumn. Leaves have taken over the back porch and I sit at the window, hungry for soup. You have been gone for years now...
Outside Merriam Park Library, a rusty black bike shares a lock with another well-worn bike stowed in the metal rack. Both nose their front wheels into the stanchion like lowly animals...
I hold out my hand and feel the soft tapping of raindrops on my palm. They are cool and don’t seem to care where they end up. I take out my umbrella and hold it up so I don’t get wet. It is fall. The wind starts up, and I am glad I wore my sweatshirt and rain poncho. The rain starts coming down harder now, and my patrol flag flaps madly as if trying to escape my grasp.
You resist when I take you down, refusing to end your dance with the October breeze. Flapping, twirling in your many threaded cotton gowns, which contain the smells of maple, grass and the geese sound, which blew in and won’t release.