Home > Garden of Grasses > The Fall
by Mary LambertFall is here again and out of the
maw of summer, I rebirth myself.
Like afterbirth, my scabrous places
What is this, who is this? To review
the labyrinths of ironies
with causes underground,
tangled, clogged with acid soil.
Cries come and twists of pain
not known in spring
Rebirth. To learn to walk one
on the spiral of life,
to walk upright, noble.
As the sun warms me,
I gather gold, swab off my afterbirth