"There is a Season"
A
poem by John McDermott
I’m tired of autumn
extending, chilling,
deciduous friends
raked and recycled
tired of seeing them
harvested midsummer
for the benefit of middle-men
tired of spring planting
dead of root rot, cancer,
grubs, and car crash.
Let there be ice,
and let me move north.
Give me new crisp trail
and clear cold noon
claiming no growth
but of icy daggers
no life but that
which set out
this frozen morning
to breathe gray-white clouds
spreading into sharp blue air.
And let me breathe.
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