Late August Fog
Morning no longer comes lightly,
but hours after I wake.
Humidity has lifted, histamines replaced
by the threat of frost, pathetic
fallacies to come. Back
to school bus rides, lunchbox battles,
struggles against time for routine.
A melody of various birds
call and respond through woods.
Spring fawns are losing their spots
and stand more certain on gangly legs,
braving boundaries alone, peripheral.
Sack webs of tree caterpillars
suspend from endmost branches of Maples.
September will be here before I have
time to finish the goals I meant to fulfill,
the pages I set to write. Memory
of chlorophyll will color the leaves
before dropping them to the ground
to contemplate the teeth of the rake.
We are all just waiting for the time
to begin saving daylight.
Biography: April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania and is working on her first (several) poetry collections and an autobiographical work on raising a child with Autism. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspiration, The Rainbow Rose and other online and print journals and is forthcoming in Poetry Quarterly and Bluestem.
