Mary Franklin

November gloaming

 

A muslin darkness cloaks everything

by dinnertime and the calligraphy

 

of hawthorn boughs pens warnings

in a pewter sky.  As clocks fall back

 

rainstorms acknowledge the act

as a welcome sign and cocoon

 

the moon.  The sky is speckled

with stars scattered in infinity.

 

Whipped by the wind leaves lie

in sodden heaps on deserted streets

 

where I appear, puffer wrapped

in rain gear, my summer clothes

 

forsaken at the back of my closet.  

 



Mary Franklin’s poems have appeared in numerous print and online journals including Anthropocene, Hobo Camp Review, I am not a silent poet, Ink Sweat and Tears, Iota, London Grip, The Open Mouse and Three Drops from a Cauldron.  She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.


1 comment:


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