Loading

Vancouver Autumn A complete representation of Autumn through visual, audio, and written work.

sonnet for october

The air upon the ground is dry and dead,

And in the leaves a song that no one knows,

I slip into a coffin like a bed,

The yellow corn that stands there, swaying, glows,

A chill within my bones and in the trees,

I see you, but I cannot feel you there,

When summer flew away upon a breeze,

I stood with somber eyes to match your stare,

If my chapped lips are anything to say,

I’d whisper in the dark, so not to wake,

And wait for foggy morning the next day,

To greet the leaves and mem’ries I will rake,

The cold is so romantic in my head,

But all these vibrant leaves that fall are dead.

stomachaches

The stomachaches rolling like green pasture

hills on countryside landscapes /

My mother brought down empires but really /

They were our suppers and our bedroom doors /

Mr. I’m Not Good Enough met Ms. I’m Not Dumb Enough at a /

Christmas banquet in grade eleven /

Where everything was rotten like damp wood and autumn apples two days too late and /

All our worst nightmares happened when we /

Were kids /

I’m rolling in my grave I’m beating around the bush /

I’m calling my English teacher the most important grown up in my life /

Warm air drips down the walls all over our feet in the way we wish it wouldn’t /

Over the treetops I can see a rainbow but /

I was never sure if it was from rain or from nuclear warfare /

And maybe /

Well /

Never mind /

The stomachaches keep rolling in like waves /

Grab a seat and stay awhile I’ve got tea and cookies /

And they’re shortbread /

We’re all nearsighted here take off your glasses and let’s be blind together /

Let’s unwind together /

Let’s forget our worries and remind each other /

How strawberries from the garden taste /

They’re so small and so sweet and the bugs don’t get at them /

Who’s to say that we’re not where we’re meant to be right now at this moment /

This cough I’ve got comes and goes /

But this past year /

I’ve found out scientific names for the tight feeling in your throat when you’ve got a reason for it /

When you’ve got a reason for it. /

ode to the bloody nose

There is a wood that lies beyond the stream,

And past the den of wolves we thought we lost.

I trek there as my face begins to gleam;

The paint that dawns my chin was but the cost

Of our seclusion up upon that hill.

I think about the day that I have had,

I thought, then, that I might be your first kill.

Privately, I know I would’ve been glad.

The back of my hand underneath my nose,

Beyond the stream, does take away a mark,

A stain that makes me think of that sweet rose.

The pain does follow me as I embark.

The punch you threw at me— the push, the shove:

The closest we have ever come to love.

isle

Up and in the highland winds, I can see my lover fleeing from a castle made of stone. He runs through wildflower and grass, and somewhere in the distance someone is playing a mandolin.

The grass is dewy and green, and I think that maybe if I were to fall to my knees and sink my hands into the cool earth I would hold and hold and hold forever the soft of the planet’s flesh. Thick and unwasted, it pools around our feet like emerald tides, and somewhere in the distance my lover is coming to me.

by grace alone

You are sitting alone on the floor of a dusty, white chapel. The candles sway in the breeze, but it’s mostly light and mostly silent. You don’t hear anything except the sound of your own breathing. At first you breathed through your mouth, so as to make less sound. But now, a while later, you think life deserves to make noise.

There is water coming in from below the dark wooden doors. It’s turquoise sea water; it’s a sweet cocktail. It’s nail polish, spilt from the bottle. Now there is the sound of rising water and breathing. Now you are not alone.

The water rises to your neck, and your hair splays out in the alcohol. You begin to feel yourself losing your stance on the floor. You close your eyes and lean your head back, allowing yourself to float on the surface as the water goes up. Closer to the ceiling, you think. Closer to the heavens, you think.

The voice of God cries out to you, Child, why are you here? But you start to cry, and it just adds to the saltwater; almost over your head. You think you hear angels, and you wonder if they always sound this sad. You wonder if dirges are performed lightly. You keep accidentally swallowing mouthfuls of the sea, and it hurts your throat to cough. The chapel begins to swallow you, now. Like some kind of revenge. God puts His hands under your back. God says, My child, this is my house.

You are heaving up sobs, but you do not move to swim. The candles have gone out, they are floating alongside you. Piano sheet music, too. An offering bowl bobs against the ceiling. You are so close to heaven. You hear the voice of God, and you close your eyes once more as the water reaches the pristine gothic arched roof.

He says, Why do you need to be drowning to hear me?

The chapel floor is a million miles away, and you choke out, You tell me.

Created By
Madeline Craig
Appreciate

Credits:

Madeline Craig