It's just poetry, it won't bite
October
Maureen Donatelli’s most recent poem to appear here was Bee Fever (September 2011).
October
By Maureen Donatelli
As evening indigo curtains low bronzed hills,
and lights along emptied avenues flicker to cones
of cold white life, it comes near to sparkling, to speaking
in the wispy rustle of yellow-leafed birches lining the drive,
in the thin creek, soft chiming its secrets, hidden in the steep
fern-blanketed ravine, and the huge plate of a moon
rising brilliant in the west, chasing shadows in darkened yards
with long low strides, with a penchant
for passing bare windows, a sudden reflection, an eerie waver
of light and shadow beside your own, a soft tapping, startling
until you catch the form for what it is–just a body
of branches, the lilac bush, jostled by a brief breeze, a bit of relief
in your chuckle, such silliness to think, yet
there remains something unsettled in the winsome
reminders, the delicate frosted touches, fingertips
turning fine like needles, silver quick
glinting, probing persistent at old worn keyholes
those black portals time picks, a thief come quiet, stealing you through.
2 Responses to “October”
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As I read this, I thought of the symphony. Music filled the background of your lovely poem. October, my birth month.
Thank you, Jeanette! October is one of the most beautiful months. My husband, and two of my children have birthdays in October. Happy Birthday!