the yellow sights of autumn
always made me feel
womanly

not this year, this year they
call my name and seem to say—
you lost your luster

that overwhelming sense of fullness,
I had when the amber hues of my hair
played naturally against the change

of season
the green yielding to the flaming
demand of fall

I no longer walk aimlessly
in hippie skirts and hiking boots
kicking mounds of leaves into the air

though I remember feeling beauty
in a youth crushed as dry as the leaves
that now make my path arduous

today’s wind and plant debris
plague me; what is the point
of fighting? youth appetites erased

the aged relegated to walk on concrete
sidewalks where carved pumpkins
decorate with static, gruesome smiles

there was a time when we did too
carve those pumpkins with children
at my side asking questions

that left no room for answers
just the joy of fibers in-between
tiny fingers and sticky tabletops

cluttered with seeds and endless
prattle of ghost and goblins
and the hope of new snow

that was a time, the browning of leaves
served to bring us closer in laughter
when this season was resolute in power

a part of me still wants to play,
lie in the leaves, let them bury
me in a cocoon

and find my way back
to youth, to beauty
to self