You remind me of the autumns I spent
walking down through the cemetery as a child,
hands clinging to my mothers shirt as I walked alongside her
before things got sour and the season changed.

You remind me of the one time I fell badly
and scraped my knees and cut open my lip,
and cried for the very first time
in front of a girl who grew up to die
at the age of 12
after getting into the car of a stranger
who promised her affection in the form of
bittersweet niceties.