Bald sycamores spear the sky,
their stark white, a cold vein
against the neck of day. Wind
knifes the river’s rind, scratching
summer’s old soliloquies -- farewell,
farewell. Ripples hurry toward the bend
where autumn’s light and winter’s burden
collide. Sunlight squints open the cloud’s
lamina of silver gelatin. Briefly, warmth
tenders us all, wakes us to this fleeting
life. Briefly, we remember we’re not
the ones who tame this world.
You smelled of mid-autumn dew, a burnt ochre swirled
Shei Sanchez's work has appeared in Main Street Rag, Change Seven, Gyroscope Review, Women of Appalachia Project's Women Speak Volume 7, and other fine places. She also freelances for the local paper, The Athens News. She lives on a farm in Stewart, Ohio and works for a health foundation in Parkersburg, West Virginia.