November Ends
in a time of rotting brown mushrooms
a musty, under-the-fallen-leaf time
a time for compost, Constant Comment tea
and nutmeg anticipation.
Crime
and Punishment lays open on her lap
pages flip like a moth in a smoky russet breeze
while corn stalks snap under the crow’s
polished purple-black weight.
This is the time for fence mending:
to repair or replace sister rails,
leaning posts in concrete footings,
pry, brace, plumb, tighten the turnbuckle
on sagging gates, this is the time
when snarls of fox fur clump on barbed-wire fences
and snow geese etch against a tarragon sky
while milk pods explode into millions of beginnings.
(Honorable Mention in Oregon Poetry Association contest--2014)
