Almost Poems About the Almost Seasons

Remember how I wrote last week about not being a fiction writer and liking non-fiction? Well, one of these is non-fiction and the other is fiction. But they are a pair that I wrote days apart, inspired by the odd start to fall that is happening.

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Oddities in September Weather

The wooden bench is

soaked wet and the sun burns 

your left cheek. Ghost beads of 

sweat come and go 

as the breeze comes. You shiver

warm.

The grass’

dew carries in the wind and

evaporates before it hits your face, but it makes home

in the scent of the air and

in your lungs and

on your neck.

You take your jacket off. You put it back on.

You lay it on the bench and sit on it. You feel the wet seep 

through the jacket and the 

denim of your jeans and against

your thighs.

The table bakes as the sun moves past the scarce trees.

Someone bikes past in a sweatshirt and shorts.

Life is full

of infiities, if just for 

this moment. 

Everything that could be

is.

It is 9 in the morning

and it is 76 degrees.

You put your jacket on.

-

October, First

There she is, my

Old friend, welcoming me home.

Her hugs are cold

today. 

As she beckons me in I put on my coat

And a barren land, unaltered by man stands before me. 

A couch unused, it’s

white-pristine and protected by plastic.

I sit on it

and it buckles, crinkles,

changes wholly under my weight. Humanity,

Realness–I am encased in this couch. And

she grins at me, a crinkle in

her eye, a glimmer in her eye,

a tear in her eye.

And there I am.