My Life: A Passing September
by S. Penkevich
Fall is the coming plot point —
I close this chapter along
With the bedroom windows. Still much to mull over
As a penitent who has snuck a drop
From the monastery casks does
While gazing out over the finger-linked fields,
The transitory flocks.
I walk out between the vines,
Drop the needle in the groove between heartbeats.
The finest classic hits.
Our lives build towards an unsatisfied scale,
The silence after our final note
Is just as important as those played.
Come dance with me
Amongst the thorns and impending frost.
Come dance with me
Until our bodies become the soil
That nourish the roots
That grow new horizons
That makes porchlight dreamers dream of gods
And new dawns.
S. Penkevich is a West Michigan poet who leaves poems on trees wherever they go. Their work has appeared in Junto Magazine, Cathexis and Bellatrist Magazine among others.
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