The Leaves are Piling Up
against the stonewall siding
and the white lattice fence
out front.
Years ago
I would have raked them up
and buried myself in the heap
‘til Mom came looking.
I’d poke my head out
with twigs and pine needles
tangled in my blonde nest
and brush the dry leaves off
my woolen fleece.
She’d curse the combing
and washing added
to her list.
I take a seat,
back against the stonewall
and lose my legs
to the un-raked dead.
A few pinecones
sit with me.
One faded green leaf
curled in on itself
looks like an over-sized
Brussels sprout.
I’m back to last years Thanksgiving,
Mom cursing the dried stuffing
and Dad watching football.
I pace my room
in underwear,
stepping over unfit outfits,
informal or too tight.
Sitting in the leaves
outside this new home
I spit on a brittle leaf,
darkening the amber
and the bubbles don’t pop,
not right away.
Last night
I think my neighbor died.
Red lights flashed,
no sirens,
and I sat on my stoop thinking
the old lady fell again.
Blue lights came
and yelling
and the sound of a stretcher.
The white lattice fence
was my censor
but a woman staggered
to a car parked in front
where I could see,
put a hand on it,
bent over,
vomited.
I probably won’t rake these leaves,
but the snow will hide them soon
and once Spring comes
my lease will be up.