Writing by Ryan
Reading by Mika
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
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
And us. Me. You. I know it is Autumn now.
And today, we are being pulled upwards, towards sky
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
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.