Last week of summer, 2019

These are the signs of season —
grandchildren visited across the country,
caught in a photograph
limbs tangled in play
as wild as
swamp grasses under the shadow
of the flying geese,

a first anniversary of a friend’s death,
and my confusion
at feeling her at my shoulder
correcting me
as I cook her recipes
for apple pie, pumpkin bread,

courage in illness
of two women from the church
where I am welcomed
these three months
of the pastor’s sabbatical,

haunting cries from the Bahamas,
and, from the Mexican border,
all souls’ day come heartbreaking early.

It is nearly equinox and I can see these
falling leaves in my life
as the harbingers of endings,

but. also, as the turning color
of bright new hope,
harvest and bloom promised
in the crocus-bulbs of student strikers
planted for a change to come.

I recognize an angel’s shadow
passing close
across the thin skin
of my flour-covered hands,

it is autumn come,
filled with all my personal saints.

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2 Responses to Last week of summer, 2019

  1. Christine MacDowall says:

    Thank you, Maren, so beautiful. You let us into your life so graciously, many thanks. Christine

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