All My Septembers

We both arrived at the end of summer,
marking that second season’s demise
and the birth of the third, the one where
shadows learn to be longer again.
I’ve cast such shadows all of my seasons
since that first September, even though
I too scrape barely thirty days tall.
In the ninth month, this first son always
is reminded that my days diminish,
leaking light with each fallen page.
It’s then I pull this last summer sun
closer, wrap it around myself like
autumn blankets, holding off those
soon-enough slugabed sunrises, hoping
to keep the longest shadows at bay.

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3 thoughts on “All My Septembers

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