September 24, 2023 - Rahil Najafabadi’s “Crushed Leaves”

I’m waiting, like the bend of summer that’ll break off
and become one of the days that feels cold but isn’t.
It changes soon, but the bricks stay the same. I need
more flavor, more color, and small candles to fake
the warmth that’s gone. But now we hold each other
to keep each other from the shivering cold. I need a river
of coffee to keep me awake from the winter that is emerging
outside of my quilted shell. I’ll be waiting––for the fog,
the gray mat of thoughts that won’t leave unless it’s cut off.
Long black blobs of wool over me to be fine if I’m alone,
long black boots to keep me away from the frozen ground.
This season is just a box, I’m allowing the isolation for once.
Even if I step on crushed leaves, I’m not thinking about them,
I wanted these humid days to be about the sun when it isn’t orange.