We are making tea.
We are getting out our brown shoes.
We are touching our sweaters and waiting.
*
First acorns, green and tannin-filmy
break free to the sidewalk.
Here is wet and not-yet autumn,
but we with the desperate want of it ache.
*
Fresh notebooks open to our pencils.
We reach out for the year's darkening
in which we better see
the thinness of these liminal months
when our good work begins
our reaping
About the Creator
Beth Doane
Beth recently earned a PhD in literature and women's studies with research and writing focused on horror and weird fiction, especially how these genres deal with gender and race. She spends her time between Brooklyn and central PA.
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More stories from Beth Doane and writers in Poets and other communities.
Drawing Fire
The artist’s knuckles were enormous, arthritic, bent. He scratched at the page, huddled in the corner of the pub in his newsboy cap and swallowing wool coat. How his fingers could even grasp the pencil, I wasn’t sure, nor how his eyes—milky, rheumy—could catch my likeness.
By Beth Doane5 years ago in Humans
Autonomy Is The Real Privilege
Good morning, freedom-seekers! Today we’re gonna be looking at autonomy. A strange word, I know; one many would probably look at blankly and run away from on sight. We’re gonna figure out what it actually means, consider how it’s achieved, and decipher just how deeply most of us are tangled up in dependence without realising it.
By That ‘Freedom’ Guya day ago in Humans
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