You always asked me why,
how did leaves change color
giggling from the red wagon
I pulled around the block.
As the leaves parade, an early flaming row
burned into memory, your voice
is missing in the trees.
Wishing it returned
with the falling.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Painted leaves sing in unison
Unlike music, their song
is soundless harmony.
This orchestra of color
soothes the tempo
an internal pounding
from a day of instruments
that refused to play
the same song.
Fall catches me
with muted volume
a serenade of equilibrium.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Blurred branches of feeling
the intersection of “Not good enough,”
and “You fell for that again?”
awkward limbs that cross
and cross again in confusion. While inches
of growth reach, stretch toward light.
The turbulent angles discretely covered
by feathered orange deliciousness.
A fancy distraction,
just like my sunglasses and hat
a layer of colors,
the perfect cover up to keep
my crack of failure private.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
As I traverse
what do my footprints say?
Those who walk beside
a step behind and to the left will
see them. Mud messages dried
to become solid.
When my legs no longer walk
my tacks will speak out
a decodable message.
I hope you decipher
“Don’t give up.
Keep looking for the footprints
I am with you.”
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
In dedication to Mother Teresa (1910 – 1997) “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
Could this be the final day
of an autumn that I thought would last?
A mellowing of red between us
once crackling emotions now dust bits
collected in a whirling dervish
carried away in the wind.
Now I am an empty street waiting
for the street light to click on.
Predictable and ever awed
by the chance
to begin again.
© Alicia Grimshaw Reposting from 2016
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 