september

my marrow smells like autumn –
september sank deeply its teeth inside my bones
injecting them, like a snake,
with the yellow sap of awareness.
i’m aware.
aware that i’m old
and that the forest will soon be flooded with colors
replacing the green.
isn’t it ironic that a forest is never more colorful than in autumn?
and that actually all those colors are merely
the sign of the forest’s aging and readying for winter?
isn’t it ironic that the smell of withered is of such an unbearable sweetness
as it lingers, like a soft mist, above the ground covered with leaves?
kind was the gray that forced us to seek colors –
and sweet was the core of bitterness once we found them…
my marrow smells like autumn –
sweet and old and witty.
and i’m falling…

 

© Liliana Negoi

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