Thick rainbow chard and yellow corn;
We run past the market tents
To where the light hangs over the river
In eternal September.
Yesterday the sun adored us
And showed your smiling faces.
Now blue-grey shadows
Stretch into the corners of twilight.
I stare at the highest branch
And pray for a sacred ritual;
That wiser words might open us
Softly, back to that which we share.
Our produce bags are heavy, yet,
Amid the piles of sweet apples, my finger
Traces the crimson cockscomb
And my mother asks if I get lonely.
Like the bean’s green tendrils
Sure and steady in their search,
I reach for higher truth,
Sure of someone beside me.
We stand in fleshy rows,
Our arms braiding us
Skin to skin.
May it not come undone.
Spare us the bitter unraveling.
Deliver us from dragging
Our walls along with us.
Maybe light the candles;
Sing with me while I pray
For sun and rain, and for safekeeping.
For September is tender.
Published on the Ancient Paths Facebook page on August 31, 2019
2019 Pushcart Prize Nominee