Enter, Fall

What parts of the plans holding
this season together are still
in place? If you see the light
of morning, you’ve stayed up

too late. If you never see dusk,
you’re turning in too early.
But there are the rest of us
in the middle: we ride see-saws

and notice chlorophyll, steal
the ruins of a kiss, balance the sweet
figures of shaking that come out black.
Tell the trees you’ll see them later,

make a date with the sounds
of your own neighborhood. Walk
slowly along its paths and sidewalks.
Your choices will always come in threes:

collapse your heart into the storm
of what’s already been, rake through
the ashes of the past looking
for any little thing that escaped

the conflagration, or build
the next day into a better version
of this one. Maybe you’ll find
the scent of licorice, the happiness of dogs.

Maybe you’ll notice the certain way
leaves follow each car after it’s passed,
and every lonely branch says wait,
I’ll see you in the spring.

Copyright © 2005 Margot Schilpp All rights reserved
from The American Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission