Clothing My Toes
When leaves begin to fall at the beginning of August,
I turn my face aside, thinking them weak.
Sure, I collect black lupine seeds
to sow near the creek next spring.
When the furnace man comes two weeks later
to service the fan, I hand him two brandywine tomatoes
to say we are so far from winter, aren’t we good caretakers
even if the green bean vines are withery and the beans go fat.
When the pumpkins ripen on a mildewed vine,
I look forward to thanksgiving pies and soups.
The rainstorm that blew in after a half day of thickening clouds
made me glad the asters would get more water.
The hummingbird has so much in the garden to taste test
that I have not had to refill the feeder this week.
It wasn’t until today, the first of September
when I pulled out a pair of socks
for the first time in months
that I switched on fall.
* * *
Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com
