Raking. Burning Autumn Leaves

Raking. Burning Autumn Leaves
[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]

My long steel pointed rake punctured
And twisted through tons of autumn leaves
(back in the ‘50s);
And there’s a hill yet, I didn’t rake, I see
Behind it, two embankments
Leaves I didn’t rake a day ago;
The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
I love the scent of burning leaves:
I seem to dream of them nowadays.
I cannot shake the excitement I get
From the sight and smells of burning leaves.
Now the city will not allow the burning,
Not sure what can take its place—:
Only wishful thinking and dreaming, I think.

But every leave that now appears, in autumn
I keep hearing the cracking of the fire; see
The flickering-flames of burning leaves; I
Can even smell—-the autumn leaves of long ago.
I have had too much of raking leaves, I do believe—.
I’m now old and tired, too tired to rake those hills;
Yet raking I still desire, not sure why.
There were a thousand days I raked, back then
Held in hand, the rake that struck the earth—
Spiked, into its dirt—capturing those critters (leaves)
Like thieves—: thieves sleeping.

This tiredness of mine will never go away, I fear
It’s called aging, or something, so I will have to find
Another place, to smell the burning autumn leaves;
And perhaps, perchance, do just a ting of raking:
Before the long, long, very long sleep.

#771 7/24/05

Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com