October

by Joyce Nancy

In October I am standing waist deep
in the moldy detritus of my life: a collection
of dog-eared novels & creased letters. Nothing
to do but drag it out to the yard, watch it fall apart
in my hands, give up. Pointless to mourn objects,
says my parents, by the time the flood came
it was too late.
 
In October I am standing in empty parking lots
in two pairs of socks & three sweaters. Nobody
looks at me. The traffic lights are out, the heat
is off, the car is out of gas, my phone is dying,
it’s fine. I’m tired of the story already. We made
enough food for a week & you bought me
a battery book light.
 
In October I am standing inside loss to mark time –
like thawing out from hospital air conditioning
like Halloween waiting for my uncle to die
like lurching stomach / not eating / new religion.
You said what I’m meant to love will find me again;
there is time, always, to build new libraries.
So I wait. I have resigned myself fully
to the new order of things.