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| marilynn breithart |  | 1. After October I skipped through fall en leaves to home to take my school clothes off pull on thinning dungarees a fraying jacket dusty saddle shoes then got the rake from our garage the one with six teeth broken. I’d start in the far yard corner claw ing leaves paper stones down sloping to the street wiping rust red gold from the lawn leaving green behind my five brothers brooms shouldered wheeled barrows towards where leaves lay blessing all An acre of leaves from seventeen trees all swept together to sit on the street in big giant piles we’d jump to laugh bury each other in screams. until the leaves were crushed and scattered in our street in our cuffs in our hair . leaves then heaped in piles mother struck the match blotting out the rising moon one dead leaf perfumed night resting our chins on rakes we felt smoke caress our clothes saw it coil upward where ghosts go and the leaves ashed the curb black er than Halloween. | |
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