Pass

~ qbit 
Fluttering like a heart about to still,
an autumn leaf lands at my feet.
I understand it’s a ticket 
on that very last ferry,

That the ferryman will punch a hole –
another chip between the dry veins.
The leaf crumbles, scatters. Remembering
begins to drift on the scent of smoke

From a damp pile of leaves set to burn.
Wasps flee from a hive deep in the mound.
Squirrels nearby hoard walnuts
and fragments of bone

To keep their teeth sharp
through the winter. Grackles and pheasants
bind their nests with ligaments of dried vines
pulled from the freshly turned dirt.

I walk each evening by the river, watch
the ferries parry tugs, barges, sailboats, ships
mixed with phantom pilings just under the surface
risking holes punched in their hulls.

I hear the horn calling for departure,
gangway about to roll back,
impatience of the first mate’s yellow
grimace, and his fist of tickets.

For Shay’s Word Garden

22 thoughts on “Pass”

  1. Great opening line! This has a feel of departure quite evocative of autumn’s change and loss. So many things sail away on those fall winds. I love the way you work the ferries in, the hazard of things that could be damaged beyond a mere season, and the tickets to…somewhere, some when, else, one way, perhaps My favorites are the third and fourth stanzas with their vivid and apt images of the natural world. Good to read you, as always, qbit.

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    1. And as always, thank you so very much for your wonderful commentary. Was hoping you would stop by for this one. Not something, or how, I would normally write, but when it was done, I thought, “well, OK.” and hit post.

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  2. You’ve switched up your style here, qbit, and shown us a different facet. My favorite is the final stanza in which the ticket taker isn’t some melty soft-focus angel, but a hard old salt who just wants to keep to his schedule. We are shanghaied sailors all.

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  6. This beautiful and reflective. “Remembering begins to drift on the scent of smoke From a damp pile of leaves set to burn.” Such a beautiful line, and speaks right to how I feel. Since losing my daughter’s fiancé, and then losing her, I’ve spent so many hours remembering. There are days memories are bright colored fall leaves, and others they are dry crumbling ghosts I wish I could dream back to life.

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