October Country

(As ever, for dear Mr. Bradbury)

Halloween, 2008 / No. 21

Those children who are born to autumn

do not suffer spring, nor its greening glance.

Our shuttered eyes abjure the flotsam

joy of the petal storm, the pale presence

of purple-buttered thistle or clover honey

spread over summer’s deranged yellow heat.

We slip from the frozen grasp of winter’s cunny,

that pan-cracked, brittle, ice-slippered sweet,

deny the ceaseless renewal, the so-called grace

of each sorry songbird’s piercing April hymn,

and return to autumn’s apple-fired embrace,

its red-leaf feathered burnished golden limbs—

escaping winter, spring, and summer’s treasons,

forswearing that tyranny of marching seasons.

Sandra Kasturi lives in York. She is the author of The Animal Bridegroom (Tightrope, 2007). Last updated Halloween, 2008.