Essence
My brows arch,
become migrating geese,
sharply raised,
unlike swooping arc of hawk
midsummer.
Reminisce not
the perfume of gardenias,
but mist myself
with decaying leaves
and woodsmoke.
Pumpkin fields adorn my skirt,
tumble upon porches
as I pirouette, dance
with apple trees
and crisp, whispering wind.
Am accused of being fickle,
A bit reserved. Yet...
beneath a cozy comforter
I kiss you, leave the taste
of cinnamon upon your lips.
by Margaret Bednar, October 12, 2025
8 comments:
Ooh, your October sounds like someone I'd love to meet!
"Reminisce not the perfume of gardenias" - impossible for me. That was a very special time!
but mist myself, with decaying leaves, and woodsmoke. Beautiful I can feel the spirit of autumn
Never thought of it until you wrote it. How right the imagery of arching brows. That really is reminiscent of migrating geese as they fly by.
Beautiful Autumn poem. Love the cinnamon kisses.
What a delightful poem, I enjoyed reading it very much!
It can indeed be fickle, October. I love the image of the eyebrows and geese! I'll think of that when I see them fly over, which they are doing now.
I love the raised eyebrows, and the cinnamon kisses.
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