Mechanics of Early Autumn

Migrant workers pick late tomatoes,
the rows half-tidy, the last before the men
pack and move on, leaving beehives
half-fallen from a tractor, combs empty.
Lilac fails yellowing grass. Steeples finger
the hammocked sky, insignificant rebellions
you would say, simple details like cracks in a mug
cast as sadness. Glaze cracks, china chips,
the day is not unraveling. And still
on the drive, leaves raise their silver hems
to walk through puddles not yet formed.

Copyright © 2009 Helena Mesa All rights reserved
from Horse Dance Underwater
Cleveland State University Poetry Center
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission