Autumn

by Daniel Arenson

This poem was first published in Flesh & Blood magazine in 2004.




Autumn

and the rain was beautiful

mushrooms grew over our box

Inside the soft earth it grew

hidden under our escape the mold and worms lived

our things festered like a canker

We never destroyed what we tried to hide from

We ran from him who hurt you

we let his poison spread under our skin

For a while, we could ignore

But, tender Curiosity, did you have to pick the scabs?



He was waiting for you there

He had been waiting for so long

Everyone we gave this gift to

their fragments spread like roots

twisting underground

turning the trees black

We found that we could no longer fight it

Out of our secret grave our ghosts rose again

our burial ground grew the brambles to claim these seasons

Sweet rose of my contentment

How I love you, even here I can.



I am tired now

and afraid

The dripping of the water is a melancholy painting

all in purple

I lie here in the soft, moist soil and wait

growing these black twisting trees

Do not forget, travelers of new seasons, remember us here

The roots of a new forest

Unearth us

cut us down

with axes hew these boles that grew from our bruises

For we are like the mold that grows

from every piece a nation

Do not bury us

We will be here

waiting

remembering the shades we painted together.






Copyright ©  Daniel Arenson