There are no leaves browning
To fall from the trees
The change, a light chill
It is too subtle for that
It tickled the back of her neck
A whisper in her hair
As she sat aloft
Floating above the ground
In the house her dad made
Of wood, nailed to, inserted
Onto the biggest, greenest tree
A loose hair brushed her lip,
Her lip wet from being tucked into her mouth
A habit she had when she was thinking
Or reading, or cooking
The hair stuck to the wet pink
She pushed it away, absently
Coming back from her intense observation
Of today clouds
Cumulus, stratus, cirrus
Bulging, moving with un-seen forces.
Fall was coming.
The humid air of her subtropical home
Was different now,
Lower, soft on the skin
Not heavy and obnoxious
Like her uncles hot breath
On the outside of her ear.
Too much, too many times.
A cool, a slight
Dissension of the temperature
Was all she needed to know it was coming.
October, Halloween
A night to celebrate the dead
Candy to rot children’s teeth
Girls and boys dressed as things
From favorite childhood stories.
She wondered what Baby would want to be
An apple, a smurf,
A woman in black, with a tall pointed hat?
Her baby, or just Baby as she thought of it
Boy, girl, beast,
Was growing, large now
Like a pumpkin
Distorting her body
From the flat shelf
Of most 14 year olds.
Her mom told her to try not to think of Baby
As a person, with a future
A life, to be separate from her own
On the days it arrives
She wondered if Baby would be born on her birthday
That would be funny, she thought
And she liked that.
That way we, her/him/it, would be able to celebrate
Together, each year, secretly.
Hey, that’s what she would do!
She would give her birthday wish to Baby,
Each, every, year, forever
Then she would know
Somehow, that baby
Would be protected,
Always.
And so she did.
September 28, 2008