—november

a year ago this morning
as orange oak leaves drifted
from branch to ground
i was making love
                        not knowing

a year ago midday
i showered and went
to work, warmed against
crackling frost palming
the window glass
                        not knowing

a year ago 12:34 p.m.
i missed the call

a year ago 12:37 p.m.
inoperable brain bleed—
i barely heard through
the barking of six dogs.
dad held the phone to your mouth.
your last garbled words—
go inventory your dogs

a year ago 1:21 p.m.
i hurled my duffel into
the car i’d put 15,000
miles on that year
                        crying at least 8,000

drove past november
trees, lawn stippled red,
brown, fragrant black
                        knowing

it was the last time i
would see home this way

that when i returned
rainbow leaves would
be rotting muck
winter hanging heavy
on the garden fence

cemetery ground too frozen
to bury anything
as alive as

sorrow

– Megan Peralta