By Gayanne Ramsden
The air smells like onion,
And autumn grapes,
And leaves rolled up and crushed in your mind.
Pumpkins and marigolds flame
Color-bright upon eyes
That see flowers bloom in the season's slow-brilliant death
Under a warm grey Hallow' s Eve sky.
Leftover summer roses and summer children's voices
Linger into fall.
A white-haired man pauses at his door,
I, part of his memory, he becoming a piece of mine,
We glance hello, then drop our gaze
Downward to leaves golden and brown
Becoming winter's under-snow harvest,
That will feed the spring.
Still autumn day, stop and
Place yourself in my recollections
Where sometime in eternity
A breath-held autumn's dusk
of roses and grape leaves
will come again to me .