October 26, 2021

the season of contradictions

Today, I feel like the leaves—uncertain whether they’re hanging on or letting go.
Last night it was an inexplicable sorrow—I desperately wanted my father to be alive,
I could barely speak. I was warming myself by the fire, cooing at the cat gazing at me
from the blue couch, a glass of bourbon in my hand. But I am not sorry.
I don’t apologize for any of my sadnesses. Now, the road is polka-dotted with color.
On walks, I bend down to take one photograph after another, as if freezing time. I wish
I could have frozen time 5 years ago, but only in certain parts of the world. Sometimes,
silence feels like something frozen, unmovable and monstrous, until I am willing
to break it. Soon, the weather will be freezing, icicles like stalactites from the roof.
I will walk slowly, carefully. I realize I will do anything to keep myself from falling.