November

It has been so cold that even the birds have left town
I saw them on their way out, the ravens crying their ominous cries.

I never learn. Once, I decided I would leave too;
go away, maybe with the eagles who were the last to leave

but their slow gliding, amidst the screeching and chaos,
only reminded me of the coldness of your arrogance,

which I once found charming, like the perfume you bought me
for my 21st birthday, tasting like something you would cherish.

Except it was not really my birthday, and so many things
have happened since, and I’m really not a child anymore.

Anyway, the last of the Eagles left town yesterday,
while I, with my bags all packed, and my hood and my cloak

stood at the highest point of the valley, where you first kissed me,
and bid them adieu, even as the rain began to turn into snow.

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2 thoughts on “November

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