Paula Camacho

autumn is a battleship before winter
it is the red and orange of an alarm taking us to defcon one
it is the scythe and sickle of air bringing down leaves from trees
it speaks words of war that wind around us but never in us
it is not the sweet honeysuckle of spring
or the wine you receive at a wedding
it is not even the hot kiss of summer
coloring bodies who seek shelter
in backyard pools and ocean waves
it is like a collage a blind man can feel but not know
how do you describe it unless you touch him differently
say this is yellow, this is burnt orange
and with a harsh caress whisper crimson
autumn does not apologize for its earthquake season
but its beauty softens the blows of loss
that leads to the silence of winter for the soldier
for a parent’s ache for a cycle that continues without control
autumn is faithfulness of constancy, it is redemption
autumn is a lesson learned on the blackboard of sky


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