Fall Again; Before I Came to Know
By: Mallory Rodenberg
Fall AgainÂ
Finally, October
with its alchemy that turns gold to death.
When I walk at night
to see the undressed windows,Â
illuminated scenesÂ
of children gatheredÂ
around televisions,Â
lone mothersÂ
rubbing their eyesÂ
at kitchen tables,
I wonderÂ
what is wrong with meÂ
that I would trade my lifeÂ
for different secrets,Â
different hurts.
On my way home,
where the windows stay shutÂ
like coffins,
I look to haloed streetlamps
to guide me, followÂ
the sycamores and oaks,Â
those hapless giants
who suffer the slightest winds,Â
like I do. Â
​
Before I Came to Know
Like a died downÂ
wind,Â
like a calendarÂ
thrownÂ
in the trash,
there were daysÂ
I gave up on love,
that little birdÂ
who didn't want me
for a cage.
There were daysÂ
I knew for certain
God closed doors
to open wounds,
that every disaster
would end
alone and wasted
in a dark kitchen,
killed
by a litany of sad songs
from childhood.
When I neededÂ
dead ends to contain me
I drove to the river.
In the rearview mirror
I saw nothing but a blank.
Learned nothing
but to keep this news
to myself.
Â
Mallory Rodenberg is a writer and mother from Southwestern Indiana. She's currently an MFA candidate at Warren Wilson, and her work has previously appeared in Measure: A Review of Formal Poetry.