It feels as if we are introducing you to Autumn. Slowly, and with care. Small hands, fingers fisted before bursting open like early fireworks. Breath-taking. Quite literally. Little face, big eyes, shadows for brows. All of these things change as the season steps in, lifts you from your bassinet, pinks your cheeks.
Look– at how much you’ve grown, at how the leaves have turned so quickly, these layers forming one over the other. Breath, and breeze, across your vocal chords. Outside a storm is cooing through the branches, changing notes, the strength of it lifting tree roots from their standings. When the winds settle, we sweep all the chaos beneath carpets, smooth the lines till their crisp. Pat you stomach. Tell you, that this fire is good.
The sky is beaten grey, the metallic sheen of swords unsheathed and waiting.
Time tests all things, makes steady work of wearing out these old duds, till they fall off and run like sand along the length of your hourglass, or come back into fashion, following along worn grooves and ever turning cycles deepening down each mark.
This name is still an uncertain bird in my mouth, perched at the tip of my tongue when I reach for its fragile feathered body. So small in the hold of my hand it cheeps, cheeps, cheeps and I say Finch, Finch, Finch to the mirror above the sink, check the windows are closed before loosening the grip I have on its wings uncertain if I can make the sound stick.
Write a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name.