Falling

Leaning back while leaves

Are falling, I remember you

With this view, and brush away

Crumbs with the helicopter seeds,

Remnants of lazy games and

A sweet break, the crunchy Tate’s treat

Tasting like cookies that Mama

Baked. She stored them far from our

Reach. Up high in a dented tin that

Kept the deliciousness crisp and sturdy.

Like this beautiful day, when I am again

With you in the wonder of this season

That is yours. Yours of birth and death and

New England. I am watching, waiting, wishing

You were back standing with me in fallout of

Everything. The trees are swaying in the wind.

Leaves take their circuitous path to earth again

They brush against my cheek like a celestial kiss,

Or a postcard from heaven.

© 2015 Anna Mosby Coleman