Sue Gaetzman






brittle and blind it hit me
driving down
where the grass grows slanted
flashing yellow to stop at red
it hit me like pain
a leaf
bereft of any human color, clutching
fist and brown-veined like
an angry temple.
it was hung
to my windshield its torso
ripped at the waist
caught on the cutting
of my blade scraping fingernails
across blue aluminum in a place
where I once lived shouting
for the wind to blow less hard
my face pushed
my cheek raw against glass
and memory, lost gloves and tears of rime
fearing at seven
fearing the fall knowing:
death comes the winter.

Copyright 2004 Sue Gaetzman.  All Rights Reserved.

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