Late October

Windy morning

Rustling leaves

You reach for my hand and place it

Inside the warmth of your glove

For a moment I feel you hesitate

And I,

Suddenly afraid,

Remember that you

Do not belong to me

You lean over to whisper

The warmth of your breath

Tickles, trickles,

Down the length Of my spine

And I giggle

A bit madly

Without a thought to the erratic winter ahead

Then, on a spur

As if to serenade us

Dozens, hundreds,thousands of leaves

Begin to float, flutter,

A storm of chromatic rhythm



All around us

Intoxicated, we stand

In stillness

Drowning in petals

Our hearts whipping in the wild wind

I know how they feel

The October leaves

I am also consumed,



By your slick, glossy


I nuzzle in closer

To rest my girlish hopes

On your schoolboy reveries

I want to sparkle for you

I want to fall for you

Just as they do

~ MJ Donnery

On Writing – Quotes #3

The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

Cheryl Strayed – Wild, Tiny Beautiful Things