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Fall: to Become the Silence

Fall: to Become the Silence

(in the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg)

November has threatened to enter the room.
We fear exposure with our necks.

Boardrooms do not grow pretty words;
flat, polished business shoes
suffocate us right
at the stem.

Leaves tremble:
mouthing, wordless, they curl
into coloured deaths.
Outside, the wind has picked up
its protest sign:
“Make fall great again.”

She left us here.
With instructions
tucked into her purse,
she told us how to finish.

Our table set:
speak using proper words
while you sit with him.
He acknowledges how artful
the decorations of our summer.
He sits at the head
with means to stay.

So much is wasted
as the season’s turn.
Winter comes inside
every time, tearing
as he takes.
My departure seconded, carried.
To walk out
from here means I become
the silence.

I bought a lovely dress
already so full of wrinkles.
Tender seeds in spaces
where words turn.
I promise the sun
to pirouette in my dying.

To stand, be full again
with one final bloom.

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