REMEMBERING MOM

REMEMBERING MOM

Autumn

Writing by Ryan

Reading by Mika

 

Autumn

Who are you?

I am no one. 

A long time ago, the Earth began asking this question. 

We did not know then, what we know now. 

But still, it’s answer was fleeting. 

As I draw aside the curtains of this quiet morning kitchen coffee, I see the wind’s blind 

fingers feeling its way through, wanting its answer 

as if words could do justice to 

    cloud     fire

    ink table

  color yellow

    wool family

    my mother

Here, it is Autumn now.

There, on the other side of the tree-capped hills,

Beyond where I can see, even from my work building’s top floor window  

Miles and away, beyond equator

it may be something very different, like spring

But here it is autumn now. 

There is no question of this. 

I know it because the air leaves.

The atmosphere is empty-lunged in a way. 

In autumn, everything falls

Yes, in this — 

the only season with two names

 everything comes to the sidewalk, and then the dirt 

and becomes very close to the ground

  the leaves, once nimble green yogis 

windfully repeating sun salutations 

through junes and july’s and augusts 

 rest in the quite unquiet peace 

they are frail cracked hands on fire 

ablaze, like one last laugh, before 

sleep comes

And us. Me. You. I know it is Autumn now. 

And today, we are being pulled upwards, towards sky

alone, together

we climb earthen mountains to 

speak our answers to god

to get closer to our mother

the way up is 

us being called

and the way down

we mourn

Here it is autumn, and my feet are bare

Cool is the air, in a final kind of way.

mother’s lips are sealed, daughter follows

we harvest the things we think we can save

Darkness comes quickly

And we can hear the refrain: I am no one.