November 7, 2023
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There is yellow on the leaves; 
love of bare November days  
and frost— it makes me wonder as to why  
one prefers Spring, 
it can never be half as glorious as 
shades of grey and naked sky that scatters emotion  
out into the open. 
It’s nice when there is something other than 
existential ache covering your bones.  

I stand in front of the cherry oak dresser and 
glance at cowl-neck draped waist  
white slip dress, dab on lip-gloss  
and realize that nonchalance often comes with 
borrowed texture– 
I see myself and yet, there is something that 
doesn’t quite feel familiar when the light hits, 
it’s almost as though a looking-glass world that hints
at the future. 

The ground shifts, and I am led to a narrow pathway 
past boundaries that have been destroyed, 
well-timed and soft, 
beyond the rubble and fractured walls, smoke seeps  
from the blackened earth and rises 
from the ashes of evergreens and oaks, 
I am made to understand that this is somewhat like  
an inner landscape. 

I am in awe, for there are strawberry stars that await, 
a long list of journeys  
and a map of trials and tribulations to my name, 
not necessarily meant to overwhelm, 
but rather to prepare me for what’s coming.  
Tell me, do you ever listen to the song that morning  
sings? Have you ever observed  
the red-winged blackbirds that echo over the marsh, 
there is both serenity  
and sadness in knowing the significance of it all. 

The sky is suffused with a deep blush,  
as the room comes back into focus 
and I am made to stare back again at the reflection  
in the mirror, only this time,  
the woman gazing back at me feels more confident. 
Maybe, someday I’ll know what I am doing.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

“November comes and November goes, with the last red berries and the first white snows.”
by Elizabeth Coatsworth 🌹

Posted for Poetics: TMBL with me @dVerse Poets Pub