Living with the Truth Stranger than Fiction This Is Not About What You Think Milligan and Murphy Making Sense

Wednesday, 10 May 2017


An Early Fall

My feelings are leaves and it's Autumn.
Why do you tear them down?
Why won't you let the winds of change do their job?
They do it well.

Why hasten the Winter when Spring is so long in coming?

On the whole I’d say I’m quite good at letting go. At first I wasn’t—none of us are at first—but I learned although not quickly. Life is cyclical and it’s best to enjoy the moment even though you know it’s going to end. This has a sort of anti-O.-Henry feel. In ‘The Last Leaf’ an old painter paints a leaf on an ivy vine to give a dying girl hope. In my version someone clambers up the stepladder and tears off the last few, in modern parlance ripping off the Band Aid. I’m not sure this poem’s about any specific event. I’m just watching something come to an end too quickly for my taste.

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