what time is it
flip the pillow
tuck it here
tuck it there
creep quietly to the couch
to read until
night sounds conjur
a mystery . . .
welcome the dream
why do we have dogs
check the nightwatch
what compells the day so quickly
when there has only been a
We have our insomniac routines. This is mine.
I find that I am afraid
yet you're the one who's flying.
The empty nest? A cavern.
No clue what to think; what to do.
How does one proceed?
What's the point of crying or trying
to hold a heart that's flown . . .
And that's the trouble;
your heart, my heart,
all the same if the truth is known.
But you're the one with wings
and you scare me with your fledgling flight.
I will be ok, but right now,
I am afraid of your height.
The baby of the family -- brave but untried, untested, tied to my heartstrings and leaving the nest.
Autumn, without Summer's knowledge or consent
Early this morning, under cover of fog, went
out tinting some flora; whispering, "Hurry!" to fauna,
For days of steaming in Summer's sauna
Are passing quickly, and Autumn's sweet brush of chill
Foretells piquant Fall colors and the need to fill
Pantries and jars and underground spaces
and caches with bounty from various places.
We're grateful this day for windows flung wide
And the cozy sweater for which we sighed,
For simmering cider and pumpkin displays,
All thanks to the Father who shortens the days.
And Autumn, if Summer catches hold of your sash
As you run toward the equinox in your mad dash
Just slip off your apron. That's what I would do
If I were the one racing toward 9/22.
In which I capitalize the names of the seasons and jot off a welcome and instructions for all concerned.
— The End —