September

Christina Strigas

It’s not my birthday that ignites me to tell you

that September is my favorite month,

it is how leaves begin to fall

and lovers stay the same

with each passing season.

It is holding hands at the park

crunching on leaves with footprints

of love. It is how trees stand still

under volcanic ash. Walks to

the top of the mountain,

drinks at Scarlet’s,

supper at Globe.

I remember every night

with you as a new falling

of

in and out of love.

(She told me she never loved him

and I could never get how

she stayed with him

for a lifetime of hate.)

I wanted him under me

when I first noticed him

in his Miami Vice jacket

and long curly hair.

It’s the way of my heart

it leads me,

it destroys me,

it abandons me

in front of food trucks

and tells me “choose”

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