I think of walking
home on Main Street,
the smoke of burning
leaves. Past Otter Creek,
apricot light on window
panes. Pumpkins on
stairs already. I could
smell the leaves in my
hair, itchy wool on
bare legs I wished were
thinner. I wanted to
be lifted out of my
plump body and given
a tall skinny one, at
least have a father’s
arms. I could smell
apples, the wind over
the falls curling hair
my mother always said
was full of gold, special
as she said I was to her,
so much she said I
couldn’t see in me
but would later