The abandoned nests
like empty bowls
clinging to branches.
The last leaves that refuse to be taken,
late grey autumn stoicism.
We brace against the weather.
Wool socks, scarves,
rainbow of what we weave
and make to hold us through.
Somewhere the snow is about to fall.
Somewhere the fire burns to embers.
Someone is alone and someone is gone.
There is no fullness without emptiness.
The tears sparkle like stars,
fallen warriors, finally returned home.
And yet, hope is the moon who waxes and wanes,
leaves us in darkness, then restores us to light.
—
Carly Sachs is the author of the steam sequence and Descendants of Eve. She is the editor of the why and later, a collection of poems about rape and assault. Her poems and stories have been included in The Best American Poetry series and read on NPR’s Selected Shorts. Recent work has appeared in Mid-America Review, At the Well, and the Earth Etudes for Elul project.
