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First Place Winner: Natasha Donovan

Autumnal

 

there are last vestiges of summer here and there:

the soft glint of the ocean in the sun,

the rain that only falls softly like tufts of cotton,

the ice-cream truck, dead at the side of the road;

but mainly, it is fall.

 

we no longer walk slowly because the air

has changed. what was once thick like

warm damp blankets is now crisp and

easy to enter.

 

Fall means entering. Fall means unclenching the

desperate fist I have holding on to warm nights

spent stargazing. Letting go of long bare legs,

languid rivers, and you.

 

Winter in the city will always seem

colder then where you are; maybe because

there is more grey here; maybe simply because

you are not here. You are there. Warming

up the mountains.

it seems endless. It makes me think about infinity

and isolation and silence, but the cruel air here

has one redeeming property: preservation.

I could leave these words in the snow and

come back to them when the crocuses

bloom and they would be there still,

thawing out, throwing a tiny glimmer

of summer into the frozen air.

projecting images on the frost-bitten lawns.

of lingering evening light.

of consuming fires.

of heart beats and fruit juice and

your long, graceful arms.

 

For now, the leaves wither and tumble,

cart-wheeling to the ground where I lie,

listening to the earth's pulse and wishing

it was just a little warmer.

 


 

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