i Cannot Weep Among the Autumn Trees
by
jennifer angelina petro
i’ve tried,
and those
who know
a bit
about
the depth
of dark
that hovers
over my head
knows
how much
i weep.
Walking
amongst
the autumn
trees, tears
shed
into the wind,
but do not fall—
they sail golden
into the wind
which is
different
than weeping.
No. i am
not cured
of the illness
which i am
a carrier of.
No. i am
in autumn’s
reprieve.
Which begs
the question:
why not
go out and be
with the trees
everyday?
Because somedays
the dark hands
holding my ankles
have just
too strong
a grip.
Which begs,
of course,
another
question:
how did you
get free enough
today to walk
among the trees?
Look—
that leaf—
that piece
of gold lying
in the brittle,
browning grass—
those treetops
lit up
above the darkening
branches—somehow
lifted the shackles
away and kissed
my feet, and said:
There
are poems
and photographs
waiting
for you.
Go. You may
never have
the strength
again. Go.
We will
hold off
the dark as long
as we can.
