In Autumn

In autumn
While thanksgiving pies blossomed and wilted
On countertops and windowsills
I visited with my mother.
We spoke of many things
But she only cried
Remembering her daughters
Had gone away:
Wondering
Where they had gone to.
As she wept
I could see the sharp corners
Of a weary and protesting hope
Slipping across her skin.
We had no excuses
No reasons
For forgetting to say good bye
And for fading, altogether.
And ever since then
I've been afraid to walk alone
At night
Lest I see her crouched
Along some deaf corner of the street:
Silently
Trying to give birth to the world--
Again,
And better.