< 1
a single leaf in flight
glints like glass
we watch
from boulders coaxed to smooth
by deep time
the still bright but ebbing afternoon
and share late October apples
a gust and now a flock of leaves
takes wing
faceting the air—
how to be the valley’s breath
as it meets leaf and light
or the leaf that is both held and free
the same leaf that also kisses the wind
and lets go
or the light itself
the beautiful light that will surely die
before us
and live again?
For That
on the way down the hill the girls and I remember
last week when they did a botch job
polishing each other’s fingernails
the child shows me her hands now: see my mother
got the red out of the places
where you couldn’t
my offhanded question: your mother
wasn’t upset about your nails was she
no it was okay she didn’t
hit me for that
Lyall Harris is a visual artist and writer whose poetry and prose have appeared in The Minnesota Review, The New Guard, The Dewdrop, The Perch Magazine, The Vincent Brothers Review, High Shelf Press, and elsewhere; her creative nonfiction has been featured in The Montréal Review.
https://lyallharris.com