When Autumn Comes by Brian K Compton

When Autumn Comes (An Intractable Scene)

She was standing...there...
beneath the garage gutter
carrying rainwater
into the hard ground,
twenty-four years ago.

I never said it aloud.
Has it been that long
since our last Autumn?

Leaves covered our shoes —
hers canvas, mine high tops,
soaked
in thick, wet, cold,
numbing an intractable scene.

I hated the soggy, pimpled
leaves, blotchy and veiny,
for letting her go.

Early, darkness crept in
before I could last glimpse
rich, chestnut orbs,
gleaming unlike faded blue bulbs
now crystallizing in their sockets.

When Autumn comes,
remembrances of death
and hunger for warmth.

Rhododendrons wilt;
flowers won't bloom.
Inedible fruit
like stones wither alone
on sagging branches like mine.

Pines drop brown stingers,
a bed where I should lie.
Frost.

Her last box packed,
she never came back --
died in Autumn.
You asked me...
What's not to like about this season?

I love her now like I loved her then, maybe more.