Let’s try something new. My first writing love is poetry, but a lot of people hate poetry because of how it’s presented in school. I’m going to try to change your mind. The first Word from the Range each month will be a seasonal poem. The good news is that if you don’t like this class you don’t have to attend. Bad news; if you do attend, and like the lesson, you still don’t get a grade! The following is excerpted from my book, Ground Tied.
Restless grasses stir in their sleep
before settling under a litter of twigs
and trivia that summer left lying around.
Against the windbreak, a heap of russet,
gold, and scarlet rustles in the breeze;
October’s discarded dancing dress, tossed
onto a darkened stage after the audience
has gone. A smaller swirl of color
flutters like a scarf, flirtatiously twirled,
then cast off as a favor to the crowd.
A while ago, in blue bright light, her
scattered sequins flashed a bongo
beat; clattering castanets skipped
down the street. Now, under scudding
storm clouds, their hollow rattle
reminds me of Ezekiel’s dry bones.
I tell myself it’s only October
acting out, demanding more
than her share of attention.
It’s just what prima donnas do.
Tonight, staccato taps touch
frosted window panes. She tries
to scrape off shingles, cries forlornly
outside my door. I tell myself it’s
only October begging to come in
out of the cold. Huddled by the fire,
I push down dread of bitter nights ahead
and days of short sun; find scant comfort
in knowing spring will surely follow.
After all, it’s only October.