Fall

October 10, 2008
This weekend, five girlfriends and I will head to Chianti, where we will rent an apartment and spend Columbus Day Weekend in the countryside. Fall should be spent in the countryside, don’t you think? And since I can’t be in Smithville Flats, Tuscany must be a close second. But before I go, I thought I would share a poem in honor of upstate New York. My family will soon be gathering there, as Riley arrives for a visit.

I wrote the poem a couple of weeks ago, during a free write session with my students. It is a little cliche perhaps. I hope all of you on Cinncinatus Lake have a great weekend together. I miss and love you very much.



Falling
"Fall leaves are turning,"
My Dad said last night.
The lake is glimmering in the autumn sun
As they drink cocktails on the paddle boat
I can smell the air, almost.
Dry,
Still warm from the afternoon sun
Apples will soon be pressed into cider
My Dad will cook
He always cooks
The path will brown slightly
Slowly, at first
As the mustard flowers hang on to fall
Then the frost will come and the stove will heat
There will be smoke in the chimney
The maple tree will stoically stand
And I will be here
And they will be there
My parents
A half a century
Together
A quarter century
With me
Will I ever be back
To see the autumn leaves
Fall where the tire swing let go of the giant maple?