You Arrive Like Fall, Suddenly

leaving my heart thumping
like a banging shutter. You missed

the bigleaf maples that hung
like mid-air vineyards in spring,

their long racemes
of yellowish green flowers

heavy as grapes. Now
they have the anemic yellows

of leaves folded
like handkerchiefs waiting

to be pocketed away. That alone
should have alerted me to loss.

Haven’t the blow-wives long lost
their beautiful heads of white hair

to shearing winds?
Still, there’s hope you’ll stay, right?

Like the woolly mule’s ears
with her long blonde hair

you too feel at home
in the cool air,

one moment clinging to me
like a monkeyflower to a fence

as if intent on staying.
And yet the next moment

I sense you don’t need roots —
that like a moon jelly

there isn’t a rock
or patch of soil or man

that could ever
anchor you.

With this his third poetry post on Dodging The Rain, Bob Bradshaw has become a journal favourite. Recently retired, Bob is searching for a hammock to spend his days in. His poetry has appeared in Apple Valley Review, Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Loch Raven Review, Pedestal Magazine, Stirring, and many other publications.

To read more of Bob, click here.