Fall is my favorite season;
Seattle is a dreary city in the fall.
The skies stay gray for days,
for weeks, and sometimes rain.
Plants and leaves on trees begin to whither away.
It’s that time of year, witnessing death is an expectation.
Reds and yellow, oranges, and mushy shriveled
greens are expected.
Noticing the earth’s spin slow is expected.
I know Fall.
I know how she likes her tea.
And that she talks in her sleep.
I know she doesn’t realize the worth of her talent;
the grace she wears so naturally.
And now the sky is dirty.
The colors scratch my eyelids to cry. I cry for you.
Why did you pretend to know
you loved what we were creating together.
Together is something I’m good at I think.
The buildings are no more than boxes on boxes;
windows reflect the regret you said you felt for
all the things that
are making my heart break.
You can have the fall. I’ll take summer or spring.
This winter, I won’t think of you.
Written Tuesday, 04.26.11.
This poem was inspired by a poetry prompt I acquired during one of The Hugo House‘s open writing nights. What is a ‘poetry prompt’? It’s just what it sounds like. It’s a nudge of inspiration; something to get the creative juices flowing, or at least, a springboard to get something, anything, on the page.
Poetry Prompt: “Describe how the city will look next time you get your heart broken.” – provided by Carol Guess.