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  • Writer's picturePeg Larkin

Where Leaves Go

All is yellow and gray today.

The yard outside, covered in leaves

The sky above, waiting for rain.

The dog is sleeping

Yellow and gray, too.

Tired from our walk and

The music on the radio serenading us.

I wonder if it stirs within him


Of riding in the backseat

While violins soothed, we hoped

The loneliness of leaving home.

All this brings me to you

Sleeping under the same gray sky

As the leaves sift down,

Like the sugar you shook,

Over the soft and bruised apples,

Ready for pie.

Do you remember

when we picked

The prettiest leaves in the yard

And ironed them between wax paper?

The steam rose up

As they were sealed shut.

And I felt, even then,

The useless sadness of it all.

To take something alive,

and make it inanimate.

The mind,

The memory

The map that fed you green

Shakes you loose now

And waves goodbye from behind the screen door.

Catching light, casting shadows

You cling to air

Until silently, softly


You blanket the ground.

All arms, legs, structure


Spread out, waiting

Ready and waiting

To seep back in

And return to your roots.


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