autumn

A poem about the yearly anxieties that come to mind whenever the trees start to change color. This poem was featured in the first issue of the Southern Oregon Zine The Junk Drawer.

every year, without fail, autumn rolls around,
unsuspecting, suddenly,
like a trick-or-treater in the dead of night.
and I’m never ready.
I always think,“I’ll really enjoy autumn this year, I’ll finally go walk in the leaves, smell the air, appreciate the time of year.”
and without fail, I don’t.
“I’m too busy” or “I’m too cozy today” or “I don’t know where to find crunchy leaves; I’ll enjoy autumn later.”
There’s a small part of me that wants to go back to the days of new school folders, of not having to worry about the future except for what game I’m going to play at recess or if there will be a spare swing after lunch.
this year, this year feels different.
I want this year to be different. I want this year to feel different.
I don’t want this autumn to slip away like years past,
I don’t want to wait another year for this short period of time again, 
where the air smells like elementary school book fairs and lovingly made halloween costumes and perpetual sunsets, the chill in the air that feels like anticipation.
I’ll step in the leaves, smell the air, look at the halloween decorations.
just please,
I’m tired of growing older,
and looking back at past autumns with longing.
please, stay longer this year.