April's Soft Deaths

Autumn, and everything dies—
Or, everything is preparing to die.
My heart, as well.
This year for April Fool's, I hope someone tells me they love me.
Or that I love them.
A joke, and we laugh—not at me, maybe, but I wince all the same.

 

Autumn, and I am learning to let go.
Shrinking & shrivelling & turning brown.
Winter, the final nail in the coffin,
This is just practice.
Softly trying out eternal rest.
I let the parts of me I’m ready to lose brown and shrivel up first,
Cut the brown off the plants so they grow better,
Cut the brown out of my heart & I will do the same.

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Spring will come, maybe, eventually.
Defrost the ground and everything starts to grow again,
My heart, as well.
Come September, I will remember how to grow,
For now, I will allow myself the comfort of the frost. 

Autumn, and everything is dying.
My heart, as well.

It is only a soft death, like a candle sighing out,
a leaf finally falling.
Everything will come back—one way or another.
A brighter flower, a stronger woman.

Autumn, and everything dies.