Cyan memories cast their spell
across the autumns of my childhood,
transforming the colors of fall
into joyful tears.
A cottonwood tree
stood in my grandparents’ front yard
scattering its yellow leaves
across autumn’s brown grass.
Breathlessly
I waited for Grandpa
to rake the leaves
into a pile
and then put them
into a large steel barrel
to burn
before the trash tuck came
on Saturday
and transport their ashes
to the landfill.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.07 seconds at 1:25am on Nov 13, 2024 via server WEBX1.