Changing bathrobes from light to heavy,
Changing sheets from cotton to flannel,
Changing the heavily linted furnace filter,
Changing the clocks to fall behind.
Waiting for the first crystal frost,
Waiting for tulip bulbs to arrive,
Waiting for Canada geese to fly overhead,
Waiting for the buckeyes to fall.
Waking to see the cherry trees bare,
Waking to see mums darken and bend,
Waking to see the harvest moon’s last rays,
Waking to see the fall assembly of stars.
Parting from my first love at nineteen
Parting from a second in the Shenandoah,
Parting before the pact was sealed,
Parting a last time while love remained.
Charting the days of my lived life,
Charting the stiff limbed stirring,
Charting the delight in early loves,
Charting the pain of lost lovers.
-- Sam Doctors
SLIVERS OF SOAP
coax perfumed lather
from their alligatored sides
and I wash my face
from the bones
of bath bars
others would discard.
Grown children assign
to my penchant
for using things up–
the penuries of my youth–
but they miss the point.
has worn me thin
and brittle as this soap,
need me still
I break in the hand
in a fragrant act
-- Yvonne Postelle