Pisaries Creator

I reworked an old poem and practically became a new poem. I’d like to try to write longer poems in the future but for now they are short. I’m still working on my novel rewrite despite me wanting to go head first into any one of my other novel ideas. I had a dream last night that would fit perfectly in my trilogy or at least, the first book in the trilogy. Yet, I have a pecking order to follow for various reasons. On that note, here is the poem.

Changing Colors

These are the lattice dollies

your grandma made when all her children

had fully grown and her boys

were a foot taller than her.

When the trees in her yard turned

from glistening green to radish red

it was the scent of fall arriving that

her heartbeat quickened.

These are the spikes

your grandpa hammered into the hard ground

to give strangers without names

something to ride in.

When the leaves in his yard fell

and white covered the yellow grass

it was the awareness of hibernation that

his heartbeat slowed.

There are the memories of the

past where water turns into ice

and life might change into death

with prospect of another year to cherish.