September Leaves
September leaves like stardust fades
Sunset skies are Yesterday’s
Crimson dies in slow decay
As rainbows spill on golden hay
Songbird’s chorus fades to mist
As dewy frost blankets white, crisp
Pigments, peach, bid farewell’s kiss
Gone with freckled skin of bliss
Sunlight’s late to Morning’s call
Summer sleeps ’neath quilt of Fall
Harvest fields in moonlight’s sprawl
As Evening’s silent echoes lull
September leaves in Autumn’s wake
Time moves on each breath I take
Starved for hues that satiate
I feast on memories, dear, and wait
breathe
You’d like that,
something permanent,
like your tattoos,
a plaque somewhere,
with your name on it,
a bronze bust of your face.
Yeah, you’d like that,
like the smell of your grandfather’s kitchen,
eating ziti and lamb meatballs,
because no one ever dies,
and you have a solid place to stand,
feet firmly planted on that old yellow linoleum.
You would love it,
something permanent,
a pillar, a rock, an afterlife,
but you’re plummeting in the dark,
and there’s nothing to hang on to,
a tranquil freefall,
faces change,
the mirror ages,
nothing lasts,
and, maybe,
there is no point,
you’re scared,
because your falling,
breathe
because
there
is
no
g
r
o
u
n
d
mother.
did i ever tell you the story
of the grandmother
who never loved me?
the woman
whos blood i must carry
the woman
who is now
a figure
of family mythos?
first
she gave life
to compassion.
a person
who cared first
about others
and then
herself.
next
came perserverance
who never
gave up
in the face
of difficulty
after that
the mentor
someone
who lived
to teach.
the fourth,
independence.
she never
let others
dictate
her path.
the final,
joy
someone
who always
shared
a smile
five sisters.
bound together
by blood
and tears
the creation
of their mother’s
pain.
they took
the joy
the mother thought
they would create
for her.
she had hoped
the more children
she bore
the happier
she’d become
but instead
she descended
further
into madness
and pain.
once, i met her
but i was young, then
i couldn’t see
her
anger
then.
and now
if she met me
she wouldn’t recognize
this person
i’ve become.
“cruel mothers are still mothers.
they make us wars.
they make us revolution.
they teach us the truth. early.
mothers are humans. who
sometimes give birth to their pain. instead of
children. ”
-hate, nayyirah waheed