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October
October is tempestuous enough to suit me today,
for I’ve neither the warm welcome of an August sun,
nor the icy bitterness of a storm in January.
No, my mood is all October
filled with swirling gusty winds
and tenacious leaves clinging to their branches.
I am October, crowned in the glory of a crimson canopy,
refusing to go into winter unseen, heedless of the looming frost
as I revel in the last glowing embers of summer’s fire.
One last dance before closing,
One last story before sleeping,
One last star before the morning,
All breathless glory before the night ends
and a new season begins.
– Erin Carlson
Mamá Was Magic
Nunca dijiste
how I felt
pero cuando era niña
mí mamá was magic.
I would stand by the stove
and watch as she flipped tortillas
con dedos desnudos
and not get burnt,
Mi aliento catching
en la garguanta
porque Mamá was so brave
she didin’t notice the heat.
Nunca dijiste,
how I felt
pero cuando era niña
mí mamá was magic,
she could fix my broken toys
with tape
and my broken heart
con besos
Mamá y yo
we were problem solvers
like Rosie the Riveter
We could do anything
Nunca dijiste,
how I felt
pero cuando era niña
mí mamá was magic.
– Erin Carlson