October in Michigan

It took the leaves so long to turn that one of the chickens started laying.
She’s a natural: makes her deposit every morning
warm orb the color of my hand.

It took the leaves so long to turn
but then again 
I haven’t been here for October in a while.
What do we geographically polyamorous drifters
know about the arrival of cold autumn nights.

One of the chickens started laying and the mums are dead
not all the mums
just the ones that got abandoned on our porch
their dried-out corpses 
escaping their thin home depot shells
and rolling across our lawn
awaiting the dignity of the compost heap.

I haven't been here in October in a while 
but mostly all I do
is wipe the bar tables at 3pm
cut lemons
rearrange the seasonal signposts
fake limbs, decorative cobwebs
turn off the lights
turn on the lightning effect
open cocktail umbrellas to garage rock 
til early morning 

October, the medicaid helpline
whose number I have memorized
nice ladies who can’t verify my identity
but they can transfer me
to another line
I count my refills
check my bank account
check the mail
two notices
about the open enrollment deadline
any questions, please call

October your oven’s been on for weeks now
cookies every evening
thin ones and fat ones
white chocolate, coconut
so many cookies we forget to eat toast
three quarter loaf of moldy bread in the compost
squirrels parade the back yard 
entire slices hanging
from their greedy mouths, 
put flour on the grocery list again

October maybe it’s true
that the leaves took forever to turn
colors dulled from heat, rainfall,
uneven ambient apocalypse.
But look at this sugar maple 
outside our front window
burning.
Can you really hold a thought in your mind
with that color 
filling your eyes? 

Can you maintain a critical distance
assess this red against theoretical ones
color charts, 
years past
can anything be true except exactly 
what is true now
this particular fire
in the five o'clock sun?

(The other night I dreamed that everyone’s hair turns red when they get old. 
No grays, just a prolonged, bright burst, then bald. The metaphor doesn't interest me – life as a single turn around the seasons – blah blah, nothing new there. 
But the imagery is pleasing: AARP ads full of gingers, the audience at college graduations a sea of proud parents all flaming like Pippi Longstocking. 
A small kindness to be reminded that I am capable of such pointless and fanciful invention, during a season when the soil of my mind hasn’t been fecund, easy.)

October, 
844 464 3774,
two nightmare fuels and a nosferatu's rise, 
hold the orgeat
press one to preheat the oven, 
two for mums
three to order another round
it's too late for mums
that's what the internet says
it's too late for mums but maybe the ladies will keep laying
they sometimes do, even after first frost
press star if you can't remember why you were calling in the first place

I said sugar maple, before
but I don't know for sure what kind of maple it is.
I'd have to check Rory's book. 
All the neighborhood trees are there
he's been gathering them this season
notes in pen
like a rolodex of new acquaintances
name, number, bark, stem, berry
leaf samples under packing tape. 

And what if that were writing: 
taking a blank notebook and filling it with leaves.
This season is making me simple like that
take some scrap of the day
put it under tape
don’t worry what it’s amounting to. 
October's signature lesson 
about beauty that strips
and strips
and strips
til bare. 

October you're leaving
and a few trees 
are still holding green.
We know the feeling
greedy cells 
soaking up last light
before 5pm darkness 
comes calling.
Come back.
before it's too late. 
Come back
with all your slow golden
all your ache, 
all your falling
towards completion. 
Come back when we've survived another year. 

---

p.s. For anyone who missed it, or is new here, this piece is an homage to my favorite autumnal poem, October in Massachusetts, which you can hear me reading last month’s post. The original is by Paul Monette.