Terry's blog: "My poetry"

October Feast

Suddenly you were at the door

knocking like the rain

from which you ran.

You shook droplets from your hair

and laughed

as your raincoat

slid softly to the floor.

Your hands were cold.

You said mine were warm.

Neither of us complained.

Later, at the maple table

in the kitchen,

we gorged ourselves on pumpkin bread

and steaming apple cider.

You ate so greedily

I had to kiss away the crumbs--

as I had the raindrops

clinging to your lips.

Our plates and cups lay empty,

yet the feast continued

well into the storm.

When the rain let up, you left,

dragging your crumpled raincoat

through the puddles on the walk.

Since then, I hardly think of you

except when pumpkin bread is passed around

or when the kitchen smells of apples

or the cider sizzles on the stove

or on a rainy, autumn afternoon

or when the sky is overcast

or sometimes when

a single cloud

moves past.

Terry