Indian Summer

Sunshine gleams through the window
lighting the bed with bright heat.
Indian Summer falls upon us, leaves
turning their tips toward winter’s hoary breath.
This season is sadness— it hangs
in every teardrop of color, waiting
to fall on my shoulders and take away
my will. Death and renewal so far from each other.
I think of Jason’s dying and how long
it took to move without feeling like cotton.

Poem by Jackie