november

A gothic October had the courtesy to go
when we winked it away in the candlelight.
November stretched her frozen arms around us
and we all sucked in each other's heavy warmth
on the second floor
where we drove around to escape the cold fingers,
the breaking telephone calls,
each of us clutching together to make a giant, inescapable
centripetal force.
But I don't know science
and you were a gem for the word.
I put my fingers to the cracked glass without looking
and November passed.

And the kids hung to the trees and the stars,
making love to the harvest moon
and Peter shattered a pumpkin against the wall
quoting "shema yisrael" as the yellow guts
flew up and evaporated, the seeds
caught and sticking to our hair.