This was written for One Single Impression prompt #30: Autumn. Enjoy.
-Nicole
Summer dies.
Autumn becomes a midnight spectacle
of murder. Fallen leaves on the sidewalk beg
to have chalk lines drawn around them to mark
the places where they’ve given up their
green ghosts after sacrificing themselves to
sex and photosynthesis.
Crisp air drives knives into fading memories
of summer warmth. The resulting blood dances
in the telltale October morning breath steam
from our lips. We know the bitch – winter – is
approaching. Her footsteps sound louder in our
ears with every Friday football game, every
millimeter of ice we scrape from our frozen,
lifeless windshields, and every month we rip
away from silent, yet mocking calendars.
Then, we are suspended with numb, masochistic
surprise – Indian summer. The warmth of
bygone days creeps into our air, mocks the
corpses of gold and red leaves lying scattered on
our driveways, mocks the apple cider warming
gently in our kitchens, mocks the statues of
Brutus in front of the Schott. It sticks a tongue
in our ears, makes us jump. Gives us pleasant
erections of being and forgetfulness.
But it is only a last gasp. The patient falls back
into bed and flatlines when the first snowflakes
hit our noses. The coins are laid over the already
closed eyes. We look across the river Styx and
see the frozen landscapes, the banks of impending
December, the palace of the Ice Queen, agog.
And we know beyond doubt – summer is dead
for another year.
Written 9/21/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
Autumn as crime scene! This is very dark (not meant as a criticism) and forces me to look at a season which I have always experienced as either optimistic and bright or gently melancholic through a completely different lens – which is something I think poetry should do!
What a wonderful creative description of the seasons. Love your Last Gasp illustration too. I love the wry, sardonic wit of it. Thanks.
You really capture the change of seasons. Well done Nicole.
That was very imaginstive. The idea of murder is fascinating. Good job there’s resurrection eventually.
Very interesting mix of a love poem and the ancients of days. Love your imagery and great flow to each word.
Well done my friend.
love-bd
WOW! Dark and powerful. There is something very appealing about the unexpected. Thanks for the read.
Oh, yes, indeed. You say exactly what I think of Indian summer! Love it.
i want to be all dreamy & find the beauty in autumn, but deep down inside i feel more of your words (love the leaves as body chalk lines!)
I love the image of ‘chalklines around the leaves’-so powerful!