The Colorful Flurries of Autumn Take Me to the Past

Prose Poetry

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

the crunch of the leaves underfoot is my narrative in the morning, when I am just a yawn made corporeal, more ghost than body in this space between waking and living

the reds remind me of nights spent in front of a space heater, my body clothed in layers that weren’t necessary in other people’s houses, but I didn’t mind the chill…