First Cold Morning

by The Wild Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

The window has written its pale breath on the glass. In the yard, one maple keeps half its leaves, each red edge darkened by rain. I find last winter's coat, a receipt folded in the pocket, and the faint smell of cedar. Fall enters the house this way: not through the calendar, but through a sleeve my hand remembers.
59 words · 12 lines · Free Verse
fallautumnseasonal changepersonificationimageryunderstatementfree-verse

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