Autumn Hands

Laura Moulton


I am Autumn for Halloween and in the

Light, we paste leaves until the trashbag

Is covered.


When the light is gone, we climb into

Your car and you ask me if I ever

Wonder what’s inside you.


I think of what it is to gut a pumpkin,

Handfulls of wet orange strands, bland

Seeds, autumn innards.


You needn’t ask, I say.

I know then that you are leaving.


People won’t know what you are, you

Say. They don’t know where I am now, I

Tell you.


You laugh then, and I bite my lip. I will

ache when you are gone. All in all, our

Time spent together pasting,


Talking of seasons, of

Leaves that burn rust into the ground,


It is not enough.