Poetry: Autumn Dancer

It’s been about a gazillion degrees here in the Southwest, and we’re all dreaming of monsoons. But I’m also dreaming of my favorite time of year: autumn. Since we live in the Sonoran Desert, it’s no longer so easy to experience the glory of fall colors, but having lived most of my life where the leaves change into magnificent pieces of art every fall, I can picture it in my mind’s eye. And there’s always poetry to help imagine it. I wrote this years ago while while watching a beautiful tree dance in the wind of a coming storm.

A tree in our very first yard in Bucks Country, PA.

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Autumn Dancer

By Kristina Blank Makansi

The metronome appears to be broken.

Invisible musicians start, stop, stutter

Pack up their instruments and exit stage left

Only to rush back again

Pounding a frenzied beat

As if conducted by Hades himself.

Vivache, largo. Allegro, legato.

She sways, dips, reaches, grasps

Moving to the strains of seasons upon

Seasons never changing, ever changing

Ripping the fluttering veils, one by one or

Hundreds at a time.

The performance is over—for now.

A golden shroud at her feet

She stands naked, her bare bones

Reveal the strength of her delicate

Limbs and the endurance of a

Thousand curtain calls.