laborday

The First

Close the door on August,
As September takes my hand,
Turns my chin to face her -
In the present, I will stand.

Secrets shake the door knob,
but they cannot turn the key.
I’ve locked you in my past now,
Do not follow me.

A girl will handle folly
throwing wishes down a well -
A woman burns the bridges
and plants gardens where they fell.

I cannot keep a fox from creeping
through the quiet grass,
But I can keep this heart from weeping -
Let him go, at last.

- L. Cymerman