Monday, November 1, 2021

what will be



November

has already

made husks of

what once was

 

the sky charcoal streaked

I work fast

against the nearing dusk

 

releasing wilted plants

stems collapse

withered fruit, now tombs

for cutworm, roll away

 

tired soil soon tucked under

sheets of russet leaves

my beds readied

for hibernation

 

I pause

cheek on rake

wood worn smooth

and want

my own gestation

 

deep silence

to swaddle me

stretch womb wide

a season of my own

making from what once

was cells inchoate coalesce

in increments of self

gathering already

to ripen into

what will

be


6 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment.

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  2. Beautiful imagery and feeling. Thank you for sharing. The onset of the fallow season always creates a sadness for me. Then I remember and rejoice at nature's wisdom and abundance.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts. Indeed, to remember and rejoice in nature's wisdom and abundance. Thanks for sharing that wisdom.

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