Fallen
Melissa Balmain

As a kid growing up in New York,

I considered our fall second rate:

how I longed for the grand, mythological land

we exotically labeled Upstate.

In that Eden, I’d heard, leaves turned bright,

endless acres of yellows and reds,

while my single tree browned, dropping one tiny mound

that I kicked to the curb with my Keds.

Now I live several hours to the north,

and the maples and oaks truly blaze—

hues so loud they look fake—till the time comes to rake

without stopping, for numberless days.

And I daydream of trips farther south,

of the places I’ll shop, stroll and dine

in that part of the map where the leaves may be crap

but you don’t need a rod in your spine.

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Melissa’s notes: “Full disclosure: in the past couple of years, my husband and I have done a lot less raking. Fallen leaves are good for the soil, articles are saying. They’re good for ecosystems. Do neatnik neighbors wish we’d resume our old ways? Probably. But our backs say hell no.“

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Melissa Balmain edits Light, North America’s longest-running journal of comic verse, and teaches writing at the University of Rochester. Her latest book of poetry is Satan Talks to His Therapist (Paul Dry Books). melissabalmain.com

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Fallen Melissa Balmain

Fallen
Melissa Balmain