The Month

The month began
as any other month.
Any September.
A little upside down,
a little black,
a little red dot of a beginning
in a school year we hoped
would flower.

But the events
got in our way.

We were saying
the words,
repeating the
soft colors of love
during that month,
in the beginning,
when we hoped for more time.

The month became our 
first-ever age of color, 
then became divided by color,
every minute an obsession.

A big part of it all,
that first month,
that September red,
a color that would shape our lives.

Saying the word,
the color of love.

That year, we thought,
we hoped, for time.
We wanted our first-ever age.
We wanted our story to begin.

But our lives divided.

That was a big part of it all.

Every minute of the events
of that month 
shaped our lives.

And the goldenrod light
of those Fall evenings
would go out.

Copyright Kay Winter


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