What Remains

Mid-November melts
Like the edges of spring
Calling back the wasted
Days we lost together.
Specks of dust caught
In the Santa Ana winds.

My foolish hands
Didn’t reach out
To skim the surface
Of your face, gently
Touching the still soft stubble
Tinted red from the late autumn sun.

I would like to touch you now
But we’ve been unrecognizably
Replaced. Cheeks and hands
Already spoken for
By this tidy, grown up
Version of us.

Outside in our turtlenecks
We tend to our fading
Garden of peppers and pumpkins.
We call for the dog and tie our shoelaces
While august flecks of gold and rust fall
Piece by piece from the trees.

I water the garden and see you proudly
Pocket the last orange and yellow pepper.
Everything we’ve planted has survived.
The sun droops downward in the sky.
I pause to watch half of it disppear.
What remains seems brighter.

I am happy until I notice
You've turned to go.
The moment has passed and I am
Holding a watering can
And not your face.
I call your name,

And tell you I need you.
You smirk. I have leaves in my hair.
We laugh and you tell me
I am beautiful. Before I can object,
You kiss my forehead,
And I believe you.

I smile as your fingers
Brush dead leaves from my hair.
We watch them fall on purpose,
Landing at my feet like paper airplanes
Made by the future daughter
We always meant to have.