It’s Autumn again and so the melancholiacs
are at work tearing the complexions
from the leaves.
This is the season of touring MacNeal’s children ward
with the Halloween faces I made in occupational
therapy.

And my Beloit College that acted
as psych ward or everything that leads up
to a psych ward –

I rode my bike over the river to therapy,
the leaves chronicling that year,
each color a rosette, ribbons of blush
whipping out from my bicycle wheels.

Even in hell the seasons change.

The chapel bells rang, I could
hear them from my dorm window.
The oak outside my room
embraced my skeletal frame,
my bipolar roommate and I slept
synchronized naps.

Snow was some kind of barren relief.
I saw proof of my existence
in the footprints
behind
and before me.

10/19/2006

Posted on 10/19/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky