By J.J. Tindall
Longshadow
Every fall
I pretend I’m tall,
Lingering in the garden
Just after dawn where
Every long shadow is
A partial eclipse
Of the lawn.
Summer’s short lease
Is waked by a
Blood moon over
The black lake,
Then begins
The earthbound borealis
Of gorgeous death:
“Triage in the foliage!”
Shocking gold,
Shimmering pink, burnt auburn
And beyond,
Silent fireworks
Whose brilliance sustains,
A heat-less conflagration
Undaunted by the wind-chilled
Rain.
Here’s the simple refreshment
Of change: the lowering sun
Re-boots the light,
The ground more yellow,
The sky more white
(Like cream in blueberry tea).
Arrange the gourd,
The maize, the
Cinnamon bound:
In ritual we reify
What was lost, what was found,
What was never around.
Laments both sacred
And mundane: where went love?
Who lost life?
I wish I was taller, thinner,
Had more discipline at dinner,
Then the recurring dream
Of the return to campus,
For the protected realm
Of the mind, and the loin.
Indeed:
“The promise of new love . . .
Mingled with pain,”
A harvest
Of things
And experiences,
An all-too-brief
Pause to gather,
To savor, to witness
And to mourn.
In every turning leaf
A lifetime of accumulated
Grief.
I say:
Savor quaint pleasures
Before they pass
Because the pain
Is what tends to last.
Joy dies fast
And will fall
Like a leaf –
Like a life –
Back into the earth.
Now: A sturdy boot,
A layer of wool,
The belled and tasseled cap
Of the Fool.
Every turning leaf
Inures; another churning year
Steadfastly
(Unwittingly?)
Endured.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on October 14, 2015