Chilled by Angela Scott

Windows closed.

                 Sealed up.

No more summer air

                   to filter between meshed screen

                                  waking me by licking my face.

 

Autumn knocks.

                Raps on the glass pane.

Sorry bitter breath.

                You can’t come in to chill me

                                and raise my skin.

 

Let me in!

                Stoke the furnace!

I beg of you,

                wake and smell the colored leaves

                                and porch pumpkins.

 

Not now,

                later when the sun rises.

I will throw open the windows,

                and gladly beckon you in.

                                I accept your fall footsteps across my floor.  

 

Because soon,

                crystals will take your place.

Winter white fingers will scratch the glass.

                It will not want in,
                                        It only taunts and knows it’s not welcome.