By Brooke Kelly
The little boy grins
watching the first leaf fall
reddish-brown against the cruel gray sky. It reminds him of the hair he shares
with his siblings and the
dull backgrounds of family photos.
College students rejoice
in the crisp edge to air once humid. Shirts no longer cling to their sweat-stained backs as they
trudge uphill to their classes.
But my branches are strained.
I stretch to reclaim dying leaves, ashes of former beauty crushed
beneath brand-new combat boots
and blown about by passing cars.
A mother sips her coffee
as it chills within its mug.
Her spreading smile emphasizes the newest creases in her face, and none of them
realize that the childrens’ leaps send the confetti of my corpse across the lawn.