During your last season,

I would see falling leaves,

and (briefly) become hopeful.

“It won’t be long now when:

she must no longer be confined to bed;

he must not fight to take a breath”.

(Falling leaves in Atlanta mean

Winter is coming.

Full stop; there is no Autumn).

Winters and COVID came and went

Now, you are both gone.

It’s Chicago-not Atlanta-now, where

in mid-September, leaves are falling;

some say, early for this year.

Tired yellow leaves swirled past

as I tripped up a concrete stair

procured a recognizable wound,

and limped upstairs to smooth my pride.

Now, when the doctor asks,:

“Have you fallen this year?”

I answer in the affirmative.

Winter is coming,

but no one saw it.