The other end of autumn

Autumn (n.) - conkers, Cambridge, drifts of leaves, foreign places. Homesickness and excitement, dark nights and bonfires. Here's a poem (untitled) from last year's autumn.

At the other end of autumn, with the pigeons flocking

on the roofs across the street from where I now live.

Pegging out the winter washing to the sound

of muffled bass-beats, or next-door’s kids yelling,

The smoke-smell of bonfires tinting the air,

like these cold November days – not letting go – lingering –

And, like I didn’t know before, I’m over again learning

That sorrow is a place I’ve got to live.

At the other end of autumn, with the summer still ringing

in my ears, like dead leaves still clinging

to the back-garden chestnut tree – the ones the wind couldn’t shake.

Fingers frozen, but I keep on pegging,

a little lower than the pigeons, learning now to pray,

Reminding myself that I am sworn to give

all that I can to this foreign place

and wishing that someone could tell that I’m dreaming

of the other end of autumn, where you still live.