Sewing

I walked to and
from the sewing factory. First down
Broad Street to Joy Road.
Then, when they moved, I’d
walk in the other direction
down Broad Street to
Livernois. There were only
three of us sewing clothes
of African fabric. I was
through with school.
Grown.

Leaving Home

After I called
home to
tell them I was
moving out, I’d sit, watching
the happenings on Linwood
from the front window.
Later I would type
it stream of consciousness,
further massacring it,
cutting pages up with scissors,
typing them back in strange order,
making it almost a mystery
fifty years later.
Except
I remember it
all.

Autumn 3

Polk berries hang
like purple beads on
red stems.

Leaf

A small golden leaf
caught in a web
spins wildly.
The silver threads
move in the sun light.
I turn away and when I
look again, it’s gone.

Autumn #2

Crushed pecan hulls
crunch underfoot
as I walk down
to put the poem in
the mailbox.

Autumn Sun

The sun has dropped
just below the
eaves and creeps
across the solarium
floor.

Overnight the green
leaves turned
golden.

Autumn.

Twists

My mind turns
like a leaf
twisting on spider
silk in the
garden.