“Early Autumn, Sometime Sonata (a dream or vision?)”

(I recently had the privilege of reading this poem at an open mic this past weekend and felt compelled to share…thank you, as always, for reading—whoever you are out there <3)

Leaves remind me of grandmother’s ashes

Which scatter like balloons from the state fair

Smell of powdered sugar, fried dough between strung lights

Upon your ambrosial eyes meet mine—in the crowd, kettle corn, children laugh dressed as clowns

Breath is cold, jacket smells of smoke, wood and charcoal

So, I forgot my age anyway as this carnival echoes

Voices abscond into dark, autumn from the passenger window of your car

Just for a minute, image if, darling—your spider leg fingers

Can you remember my voice, talking to you either?

Were it not this reflection, like firecracker sparklers, apart warblers

When we used to be different, pretending somewhere was forever

Harvest moon in October, blood fern, warm apple cider, lights of soft amber

Listening to the children we once were, come out again—alive, sipping on dirty chai

Like this photograph from a booth in my back pocket, iron mailboxes

Wandering brick building street, cobblestone, lights from their windows

Sing the way I listen for the wind to tell me your name

Air still smells of rain, heart beats the closer you lean in

A long time ago this used to be called, something else—different

Want to call you honey, the way you’re looking at me, staring

Standing by the orchards, lit Jack O’Lanterns and pumpkins

Paper lanterns, dreamcatchers, wind chimes, infants cradled by their mothers

Litter the stalks of grass blossoming from cracks in concrete

Beneath rusted sky, last names with stories behind them

Nobody’s ever asked me that before—I can see your breath

6:45PM feels like it’s early morning, birds cawing

Train tracks clack then rest before stone houses

With lights across their porches, gardens in their courtyard, haystacks

Clothes swaying the same direction their un-raked leaves,

This cathedral of trees, something about you opens me

How those streetlights ahead glimmer like stars

Which used to be gas lamps; where I’m originally from

Isn’t it sad that, no one will remember this but us?

Look up, junebug, at how autumn looks now,

Don’t blink, don’t forget because before you know it

We’ll have to wake up

Again, betwixt russet mums, cinnamon lawns

Playhouses with wooden stages and no one on them, because

Halloween makes this place feel like Mardi Gras,

Squash and wicker baskets, kerosene jars and wallpaper

Auburn dirt that clumps to twig, stains skin as mascara

Maybe we could have kids…I know that’s so cliche to say,

When it smells like roses, how those ivy climb houses

White-embroidered horses, this dress looks so pretty,

Over there, that ivory dollhouse, barnyard becoming cornfield

Horizon from violet, no, I don’t mind standing right here

Looking into your eyes, because that’s all I want to do, listening to slide guitar

As the crickets chirp, whistlers trail, woodfire crackles upward

Greensward shimmers to the breath of autumn’s sonata,

Yeah, I think, I’ll say, tell you, maybe I do see g-d

In that little girl sharing her caramel apple with a friend

The way the wind lingers like a piano’s sostenuto,

Then changes my hair, come nearer…those are owl feathers

Why, translated in English they call it a grove of angels,

Fun to get lost, isn’t it…in this big ole’ world, saintless

For some reason, hearing you say my name, rey de mi corazon

Makes it seem like no one before you ever got it right, so

The scarf you wear drapes over your shoulder like a cape

Can still see the ferris wheel, hear bells of the carousel

No, I just feel like smiling tonight, picking pinecones

To smell them up close; spruce, dogwood, birch, cedar, Douglas fir

Periphery surrounding like watercolor, I’m too shy to say anything

Against the embers of your soul, mmm-hmm, I’m listening, really

Chasing this photograph from my mouth, as fluttering moths dance

To porch light, the well’s metal bucket swings back and forth like church bell;

No one’s looking at us, but we exist…can you be my soulmate?

New York still lives inside me, the way you carry, the pieces of people you still love

Alive as memory, and for a moment, as the trees sway, grass shimmers, leaves scatter, a silence encapsulates

Your kiss to beckon me awake to summer morning, and a wish—you are (forever) my autumn.

 © 2024, A. M. D’Angelo