Peg 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
Memory
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
Mercifully,
You blanket the ground.
All arms, legs, structure
Soul
Spread out, waiting
Ready and waiting
To seep back in
And return to your roots.
